One For You
by Beautiful Ally
Summary: One shots to the rescue! Haha this will be a collection of completed one shots updated nearly daily! Angst, fluff, humour... everything will be in here... a one shot for everyone! Each 'chapter' a new story.
1. A Little Brother Fluff

_Disclaimer: I decided to tell you these aren't mine while spelling the word disclaimer correctly this time..._

_A/N: Howdy! Alright, time to have some fun. I've decided, with much insisting from Windy Fontaine, to post all of my one shots... and trust me... I have a lot. Whenever I'm bored, procrastinating on school work, or get a really good idea from something, I'll write a one shot; or a drabble. So here, for your entertainment I am going to be posting them. I currenly have 15 of them done. I'll be posting one a day, guaranteed, so you'll have something new to read each day. Some of the stories you're going to recognize as I posted them before, many of them are completely new. They range in length from 150 words (my smallest drabble!), to gezz.. over 2000 words as my one shot justifiably entitled 'A Long Shot'. Some of the stories are from when they're younger (I have one from when Sammy is two!), and some of them are their 'current' age. There are, however, two death fics that will be thrown in. I've only ever writen two of them, and I probably won't be writing any more; I'll give you a choice-- in your reviews, let me know if you want me to warn you which ones are the death fics or not. Alright, I'll just get right into this now; I'm pretty sure you'll figure things out. (oh! and when you review, be sure to put in your own ideas for one shots, or a drabble challenge; you never know where my next idea will come from!!)_

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_Title: A Little Brother Fluff  
Genre: Uhh... is fluffy a genre? Haha...  
Summary: This is a missing scene that I'd written for The Benders for when Sam goes and rescues Dean._

**A Little Brother Fluff**

_The Benders 'missing' scene_

"I'll watch this one, you go ahead," her voice was stern, and Sam stared at her skeptically for a moment, "Go ahead."

Sam left the barn where the officer was. She had things handled as she pointed the riffle at the old, sick, twisted man. As the younger man now ran out into the dark, rain drenched junk yard his only thought was his brother. Dean had to be somewhere, and Sam's insides flipped as he thought of all the things that the Benders were capable of doing to him.

Armed with nothing more than a large, thick stick that Sam found on the muddy ground, he slowly moved his way towards the house. Dean had to be in there. The floor boards squeaked beneath his shoes as he worked his way up the stairs on the porch and, with his weapon clutched in hand, he slowly opened the door.

He heard it before he saw anything.

"Daddy's going to hurt you when he comes back," the voice was soft, quiet and that of a young girl.

"Come on," Sam's heart leapt as he heard Dean's voice, "Just cut me loose. I won't hurt you; I promise. This isn't your fault. I just have to save my brother."

"They shot him," Sam inched closer as the girl played with Dean's heart-strings, "He's dead, and you will be too when Daddy comes back."

"Shut-up!" obviously Dean had no patience.

Sam had to think quick. He knew that there was no worry at this moment of anyone else coming to hurt them, but he didn't quite trust the girl that was holding Dean captive. He looked around where he was and spotted an old, glass jar filled with what looked like teeth. This sent shivers up Sam's spine as he took a step forwards, and taking a deep breath, knocked the jar to the floor with a loud smash.

"Daddy?" the young girl called, and, just as Sam hoped, she walked into the room where he was.

"Easy," Sam said, jumping out, and grabbing her from behind; one hand going over her mouth, the other pulling her arm behind her back, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Missy tried to scream, but it only came out as a muffle, as Sam shuffled a few steps and pushed her as gently as possible into an open closet, shutting the door behind her. He used the stick which he had leaned against the wall to securely keep the door closed, and took her screams and yells for help as a sign that she wasn't going to escape any time soon.

"Hey!" Sam heard Dean's voice from the other room, "Who's there?"

Sam grinned as he walked into the room, "Me."

Dean let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, "Sammy."

"It's Sam," Sam continued to smile as he went around to the back of the chair which his brother was tied to, and released his hands.

Dean stood up, and placed a hand on each side of Sam's face; his arm and shoulder screaming out in pain as he did so, "Are you alright Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, letting Dean go into 'big brother' mode.

"Did they hurt you?" Dean questioned, taking a step back, and quickly scanning Sam up and down, "Because if they did, I'll--"

"I'm fine Dean," Sam interrupted with a small laugh, and then got more serious as he noted the older man's injuries, "Looks like they got you pretty good though."

Dean moved his hand up to the nice sized cut on his face, "It doesn't matter."

Sam used his left hand to push Dean's face up a little so he could get a better look,. "It looks pretty bad, man."

"I don't care," Dean shook his head stubbornly, a large lump forming in his throat.

"Dean?" Sam felt a cold feeling form inside the pit of his stomach, "Are you sure you're ok?"

"Are you?" Dean retorted quickly.

Sam nodded.

Dean took a deep, shaking breath as he took a step past Sam towards the door, pausing to place a hand on his little brothers shoulder, and squeezing it affectionately, "Then so am I Sammy."

_The End_


	2. Brother oh Brother

_Disclaimer: I'm eventually going to have to think of many ways to say these guys aren't mine._

_A/N: Back again! A few things; Dawn, thank you!!-- I am totally going to be making those... not sure when they'll be stuck in, but hey, that's half the surprise! Anyone else who wants to make suggestions, feel free!  
Ok, so this next 'one shot', is actually a drabble. My friend gave me the challenge of writing a 200 word drabble that has the vauge line of 'I'll eat my sock if...'. Haha... only I could change that into angst... enjoy! (don't worry!-- tomorrow's one shot will be a longer one!)_

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_Title: Brother oh Brother  
Genre: An angsty thing... ok, there's a little humor in it.  
Summary: A 200 word drabble challenge_

Brother, oh Brother

Dean sat beside Sam's hospital bed just as he had been for the past two weeks. The doctors said the chances of him waking were less and less as the days went on.

Dean wouldn't believe them.

"Come on Sammy," Dean was emotionally and physically exhausted, "Just wake up. I swear… I'll let you drive the car, I'll let you pick where we eat, hell," Dean smiled, "I'll eat my own socks. Just please man… wake up."

Exhaustion turned to sleep as half an hour went by and the elder brother collapsed half on the bed; his head rested against Sam's chest. He was awakened by something rubbing against his face.

"Sam…" Dean mumbled automatically; his eyes half closed.

"Dude, you need to shave," Sam's hoarse voice came out.

Dean half laughed and half sobbed as he sat up suddenly, "Sammy!"

Sam smiled, "Hey Dean."

"Oh man," Dean ran his hand over his face; trying feebly to stop the tears, "Welcome back little brother."

Sam stared weakly at his emotionally wracked brother, "You look like crap Dean."

"Right back at you."

Sam smiled mischievously, "You're going to look even worse after you eat your sock."

The End.


	3. Funkytown

_Disclaimer: Sam and Dean say no, so I'll have to go with them..._

A/N: Day... uh three, I think it is. Haha, this is fun-- I don't have to do much work right now because all these one shots are already completed! Ok, a few things; one, is a reminder that everything that is not in the story is not spell checked; I do it in a different program; no funky little spell check here (frowns). Haha, because I will be the first to admit I suck at spelling... Ok, secondly is for all who are not sure, a drabble-- though not a technical term means, in the 'vauge writing world', a short story or a one shot. Me, I've always pictured drabbles as really short stories; often a challenge where someone will say 'a drabble of 200 words or less' . I hope I helped.   
So this next story, yes, I had to do it. It's my own rendition of the origin of the codeword 'funkytown'... enjoy!

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Title: Funkytown  
Genre: Humm... yeah... I'll go with angst; my specialty!  
Summary: What happened to 'cause Sam and Dean to want a codeword for when they're in trouble? --and better yet, why Funkytown?

Funkytown

'_If Dean ever suggests splitting up again, I'm going to punch him,_' Sam thought to himself, his heart pounding, '_"It'll be easier," he'd said, "Much faster," Dean had promised. Yeah well he doesn't have some bastard pointing a shotgun at him right now I bet._'

As if reading his thoughts, the man in front of him stuck the twelve gauge shot gun at Sam's forehead. The smell of the recently fired gun seeped into his nose, and the burning of the hot barrel caused Sam's eyes to water.

"Bet ya never saw this comin' did ya boy?" the man grinned a nearly toothless smile that reminded him sinkingly of the Bender's.

Sam stared at the man a moment, "I can honestly say that this wasn't on my list of things I wanted to do today."

The man laughed a wheezing laugh, "It's always a good day when ya meet Hickle Albert."

Sam would have laughed at the name if it weren't for the fact that the man had just moved the barrel from his face, and he didn't particularly want it put back. Instead he decided to question him on the reasoning for him being held captive.

"All of this because I was walking in the woods?"

"You was trespassing boy," Hickle grinned again; Sam really wished he would stop doing that, "An' I don't like trespassers."

Sam looked around the room that he was in. It was old and smelled of cobwebs and mothballs. The room was lit solely by a single bulb hanging above them and a small fire off in the corner. Nearly an hour earlier the Winchester brothers took off on a hunt for a Wendigo cave that was reported in the woods. Dean suggested the split so as to easier find the place. Sam had been walking for only around ten minutes before he heard a gun shot go off right by his head. He didn't have time to take out his gun before Hickle had approached. It took a solid crack to Sam's temple to enable him to be tied up in a chair in the old, rundown place, and though the blood had dried up on the young Winchester's skin, his head still throbbed painfully. Added to that the tortuous burns from the gun and from other implements in the small room, Sam was about ready to stop playing dumb.

He didn't buy that this was all about trespassing.

"What's this really all about?" Sam asked.

Hickle eyed his prisoner a moment, "You a cop or a fed?"

"A what?" Sam was taken aback by the question.

"You deaf boy? Are ya a cop or a fed?"

"I'm neither," Sam shook his head, "I'm just-- I'm a student at the University in town."

Now was no time to bring out the Ghostbusters truth.

"Yeah," Hickle laughed, "I heard that one before."

Sam remained silent. What else could he say? Hickle wasn't exactly someone who Sam wanted to mess with. His shifting eyes and constant gripping of the gun made Sam nervous. The silence was just getting to be long when a sudden noise made Hickle jump; shooting the shotgun mere inches from Sam's head. The younger Winchester yelled and flinched, and regaining his composure quickly, looked around for what made the noise.

It was his phone.

"A phone!" Hickle yelled out, realizing it at the same time, "That one of your FBI buddies?!"

"N-No," Sam's voice stuttered out.

Hickle moved over and took the phone out of Sam's pocket, "It says Dean. That a code word?" 

Sam silently shook his head.

"You're gonna answer it boy," Hickle spoke threateningly calm, "And you're gonna make it sound like everythin' is fine. That ya got a flat tire or somethin', got it?"

Sam nodded, and Hickle open up the phone to Sam's ear.

"Sam," Dean's voice rung through, "What took you so long to answer?"

"Sorry Dean," Sam cleared his throat of the fear that was trying to leak out, "I couldn't find my phone."

There was a pause on the other end, "Sammy… are you ok?"

"Yeah," Sam forced a light laugh, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know we were supposed to meet back at the lot fifteen minutes ago. Where the hell are you?" Dean's voice was laced with worry.

Hickle was close enough to hear the conversation, and now held the hot barrel to his cheek; the burning instantly causing tears to come down Sam's face.

"I-I--" Sam was forced to take a deep breath to calm himself, "I got a flat Dean. Sorry."

Again a long pause came, and Sam closed his eyes tight, praying that Dean wouldn't say anything to give his lie away, "Alright Sammy. Uhh-- I guess you're going to have to replace those tires huh?"

A relieved sigh came out of Sam, "Yeah. Uhh-- I am."

"Are you gonna pack tonight?" Dean asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

"No," Sam knew his next metaphor would never work, but decided to give it a try nonetheless, "No, I lost my suitcase, but my friend's got one."

"Damn," the words came from Dean, and immediately Sam knew he understood what he was saying.

Without any warning, Hickle grabbed the phone away, "That's enough," he said after turning it off, "Wouldn't want you to get too involved with your friend there."

The stinging on his cheek was bad, and Sam knew that a blister was going to appear. The next hour was the longest hour Sam had ever endured. It was filled with accusations of Sam being some sort of authority, and mindless torture every time he said otherwise.

"What are you?!" Hickle was getting more angry as time went by.

Blood rolled down from Sam's nose and lip, "I'm a cop," he stated bluntly, "From in town."

"Ah ha!" Hickle grinned and leaned in close; Sam could smell rum coming from his pores, "See, was that so hard boy?"

Sam remained silent. He didn't have much hope at that point of getting out of the situation. Dean had no doubt figured out that something was wrong. Especially since Hickle shut off the phone. But there was no way of Dean knowing what kind of trouble or where he was. Maybe if he played along with the man's deranged accusations, he'd make it quick.

"So who's gonna come here?" Hickle asked, "Who knows about it?"

"Not many people," Sam shook his head, answering the questions lamely.

"How long you recon it'll be before someone finds yer body boy?" Hickle taunted.

"It's _Sam_," Sam corrected, anger bubbling up in him; the taste of blood seeping down his throat.

"Sammy," Sam flinched as the man spoke the name that he only allowed his big brother to call him, "it looks like you're gonna die alone."

At once, Hickle had the gun cocked again and pointed directly at Sam's face. His heart pounding furiously, he squeezed his eyes shut.

'_At least it will be quick!_' Sam thought desperately, waiting for the sound that would never reach his ears.

A shot rang out, and Sam held his breath, waiting for the pain to spread through his body. It never did, and after a split second he found it safe to open his eyes. What he saw startled him as half a dozen FBI's crashed into the room.

"Just stay still sir!" one of them shouted to Sam.

He wasn't about to argue.

The men quickly scoured the area; three of them leaving to other rooms. One of them; a tall man with blond hair, walked over to Hickle and felt his neck. With the small, satisfied look on the man's face, Sam guessed his torturer was dead. The man then walked over to Sam and began to untie his hands from the chair.

"What's your name Son?" he asked kindly.

"Sam," Sam felt no need to lie about his name, "Sam Simon," -- his first name at least.

"I'm Captain Allan Murray, Sam," Allan smiled, "How badly hurt are you?"

"I'll be ok," Sam rubbed his raw wrists as Allan quickly undid his ankles, "What happened?"

"We got a call from someone that there was a man who was being held captive in this area," Allan explained as the rest of his men continued to scour around the place, "This man Hickle has been under our watch for a while for illegal marijuana growing. But we could never find his field. When we got the call, we started scouting the place, and sure enough, about two hundred yards north we found a couple of good acres growing. You're lucky we got the call Sam."

Sam smiled, knowing exactly who put the call in, "Yeah, I am."

"We have an ambulance outside, I think you should be taken in to have a look at," Allan looked at some of the markings on Sam's face, "You got some nasty burns on there."

"I'm fine," Sam shook his head, desperately just wanting to get away and find Dean.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," Allan frowned, "We also need to get some statements from you."

"Statements?" Sam repeated.

"Don't worry," Allan quickly said, "We know that you weren't involved. We've been tracking this guy since you were about ten I'm guessing. We just need a run through of everything that happened."

Sam knew that he really didn't want to do that; in fear of not only incriminating himself on past events, but also his brother, "Alright. I'll go out to the ambulance, and you can meet me there?"

"Sure thing," Allan patted Sam on the back.

With a smile Sam left through the front door. The second he got outside, however, he moved to the side of the house, and took off towards the woods of which he once came from. There was no doubt in his mind that the police were going to be looking for him. Well, at least looking for a Sam Simon. And there was also no doubt that Dean would be pretty frantic by that time. Which was why Sam was glad that he thought to grab his phone.

It rang once before Dean answered it, "_Sammy?!_"

Sam smiled, "Good job with the feds Dean."

"Oh thank God," Dean's relieved sigh came over the phone, "Sam, where the hell are you? Are you hurt?"

"I am--" Sam looked around, "In the middle of a bunch of trees. And I'll be ok."

Sam could sense the panic in his brother's voice as he spoke, "Ok, well I gotta find you. Do you know if you're near any road or anything?"

Irony struck in a good way in as soon as Dean asked the question Sam stepped onto a paved road, "Just found one. Sign nearby says that I'm about fifty miles from Oakland."

"I'll be there in two minutes," Dean's voice rung over and then a click sounded of him hanging up.

Sam stood by the sign, and watched the stars above him. The sky was clear and the air was warm; a perfect night in theory. A night which he wouldn't soon forget, and wished never to repeat. He shivered as the thought that it could have been Dean being held captive. Sam didn't know if he'd have been smart enough to call the feds or not. The thoughts were cut off, however as the distant sound of the Impala entered his ears. 

A smile came to Sam's face as the car came to a halt and Dean got out of the car.

"Sammy?" he spoke tentatively.

"Hey Dean," Sam smiled up at him.

A long breath came out of Dean as he walked over and placed a hand on the side of his little brother's face, "Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine," Sam insisted.

Dean tilted Sam's face towards the light being given off from the car. The burns and marks looked bad and Dean found a lump forming in the back of his throat. Sam waited a moment before placing his own hand on the side of Dean's face; the closest they usually came to a hug.

"Dude, I'm alright," Sam smiled, "You saved my ass… again."

Dean laughed and let go of his brother, "Man, you scared the crap out of me."

"That sounds potentially dirty," Sam joked.

Dean grinned, "You're such a jerk."

"Aww, you know you love it," Sam smiled.

Dean paused, "Most of the time."

The elder brother took a large deep breath again and sat on the trunk of his car. For a long moment he sat there staring out into the highway.

Sam walked over, "Are you ok Dean?"

"I'm alright," Dean nodded, still staring into the abyss, "I just fricken hate not knowing if your ass is in trouble."

"Well I'm surprised that you were able to pick up on my luggage thing," Sam joined his brother at the front of the car.

Dean laughed, "Yeah, that was weak man. You're lucky I'm on the ball."

Sam smirked and looked down at his feet.

"Oh grow up dude!" Dean laughed.

"Ok," Sam forced himself serious, "We need to figure out what to do if this ever happens again."

"That's for sure. No way in hell do I want to go through that again," Dean muttered, "We need a code word."

Sam eyed his brother, "Ok Sherlock Holmes."

"I'm serious," Dean insisted, "A word that we can give each other to know if one another is ok. Tonight was too close."

"And what word are you thinking of?" Sam mockingly asked.

"Ok _Watson_," Dean shot, "You got any better ideas?"

Silence fell between the brothers which was interrupted by the sound of music coming from within the car; '_Won't you take me to Funkytown. Won't you take me to Funkytown…_'.

A large smile came to Dean's face, "Funkytown."

"What?" Sam was beginning to question his brothers sanity at that point.

"Code word funkytown," Dean explained, "If either of us are in trouble, use that word."

Sam paused a moment before laughing and getting up, "Alright, c'mon Sherlock."

"After you Watson."

The End


	4. Meg's Game

_Disclaimer: Does this work?... no..._

_A/N: Oh man... I can't believe the 'success' of this one shot thing right now. Haha... it kind of makes me happy, and kindda makes me sad; it more popular than 'Reality'!. Speaking of chapter stories, I'll probably be posting a new one of those tomorrow!-- be sure to read and review that.  
Ok, as with this story... it is one of the challenges you fine reviewers gave me. It is sort of a what if/extended scene from 'Born Under a Bad Sign' for if Sam had turned the gun on himself. It's not too long because I felt it couldn't drag too much or else it would loose the tension. So basically it's around 400 words of pure angst. This was really fun to write, and it's to show you that I will write each and every request I'm given. Another thing, I **will** be letting you know before death fics. I will let you know the day before I post it, and then again on that day in the added notes. I know they can be really harsh and (haha, not to complement myself...), I've been told my death fics are well written ones. But, you don't have to worry about that yet, because tomorrow, I guarantee is no death fic. Anyway, on with the show! _

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_Title: Meg's Game  
Genre: Pure, complete angst...  
Summary: It's a small piece of what I think could have happened if Sam had turned the gun on himself in 'Born Under A Bad Sign'..._

Meg's Game

"No," Sam's voice was shaking with emotions, "_You'll _live."

He reached his hand down to the tossed aside gun and gripped it firmly in his hand. The handle was cool to the touch, and the satisfying feeling inside of him caused a smile to crease his lips.

"Sam…" Dean's voice shone out, "Sam, what the hell are you doing? Put the gun down."

Sam turned around to face his brother; the smile from his face washed away. He looked at Dean and slowly raised the gun to the temple of his head.

"_Sammy!_" Dean barked, "Put the damn gun down!"

"I told you I can't fight this anymore," Sam breathed.

Dean's breathing quickened as he stuck his hand out towards his little brother, "Dude, listen to me-- I can help you. This is _not_ the way to do this!"

"I've tried so hard," Sam's voice came out pleadingly, "I have tried to fight my destiny Dean, but I can't! I killed a man!"

"Sammy please," Dean swallowed hard, scared to move, "Please, we can get through this. We don't know exactly what happened. C'mon man, just give me the gun…"

Sam cocked the gun and Dean squeezed his eyes shut. A smile cursed the youngest Winchester's face for a split second before Dean's eyes opened up again; tear and fear filled. Immediately Sam went back to being nearly hysterical, his hand shaking the ready to go off gun.

Dean's voice quivered as he spoke, "Sammy… please…"

"What?" Sam's voice became laced with anger, "What can you possibly do Dean that will make everything better? What can the all knowing Dean do?"

Again Dean swallowed hard as he took a small step forward, "…don't do this…"

"If you had the guts to do it I wouldn't have to!" Sam forced the tears down his face, "I have to do this Dean…"

"Sammy no! No, please, _please_," Dean now had his hand pleadingly on Sam's arm that wasn't holding the gun, "Please no. I-I--" Dean chuckled desperately, "I wouldn't be able to live if you did this Sammy."

Sam stared at Dean a moment before un-cocking the gun and slowly moving it away from the side of his head.

"Thank you," Dean's voice choked out.

"You'll live," Sam's voice was sinisterly quiet.

Dean closed his eyes in silent thanks, and in that split second, Sam's eyes flashing black, the gun was raised and cracked onto the side of Dean Winchester's head.

"You'll live to regret this."

The End


	5. Little Hands

_Disclaimer: Yes they are mine... now just try and sue me... ahahahahaha..._

_A/N: Haha, the last one didn't go over too well, which makes me even more nervous to post todays one. You see, each time I write a story, I usually run it by my friend, and she will tell me if it's good or not. But, in order to give her somewhat of a surprise, I decided to keep this one shot as a total surpise. It is based on one of my favorite urban legends, and I just went with it and had fun.  
Quick side note: due to some more reviews, I will be letting you know the day of a death fic here in the added notes, so it doesn't spoil it too much for readers. Also, every single one of your ideas that you give, I copy and paste into a little thing I have, and I will eventually get to them. Just last night I wrote one where Dean has a nightmare about Sam, so keep the ideas coming! I hope you enjoy todays..._

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_Title: Little Hands  
Genre: Wow, this is the first time I can actually say that the genre is Supernatural... haha, cool.  
Summary: What will happen when an urben legend comes to life right infront of Dean's eyes? And more importantly will it be enough to save Sam's life..._

Little Hands

The night was dark and Dean looked over at his slumbering brother. If anyone deserved to rest it was him, and Dean smiled gratefully at the days outcome. Things could have gone a lot worse when Dean got the call from Sam that afternoon that he'd been in a car accident.

"_Are you ok Sammy?" was the first question that had come out of his mouth, "What happened?"_

"_Just bumped up," Sam summarized his injury of nearly a dozen stitches on his forehead from broken glass, "A drunk ran a light; caught the right side of the car. It's still running fine though, so I'll be back at the hotel in about a half an hour."_

"_But you're ok?" Dean emphasized. _

_Dean could hear Sam's laugh, "I'm fine Dean."_

His Sammy was fine, and now as Dean drove the car to the next down; a large sheet of plastic covering the drivers side broken window, Dean decided to forgive his little brother for not telling him about the cut up noggin he had.

The Impala had been making odd noises for some time, and Dean made a mental note to stop at the next town so Sam could sleep in a proper bed, and so that he could look under the hood. A sign passed that read San Antonio: 56miles. That would work perfect.

'_God, he looks tired_,' Dean observed watching as Sam shifted in his seat.

Sam was never one to make a big deal when he was hurt; none of the Winchester family took that route. As long as it wasn't life threatening they'd patch it up and move on. It would be those hours in the middle of the night, after a dangerous and high impact hunt that Dean would watch his little brother sleep. Battered, bruised and hurting, Sam would twist and turn as he slept; the pain plastered on his face in a way that he didn't dare to when he was awake.

And even though the accident was something small and not even remotely supernatural, Dean saw that same look in his Sammy now.

"We're almost there," Dean mumbled, "Then you can get some rest."

An unguarded railroad crossing ahead caused Dean to slow, a thick fog seeping in like smoke as he did so. The sound of an approaching train entered the older brother's ears just as a loud cough came from the engine of the car.

"Oh c'mon Baby, not now," Dean breathed feeling the car stutter.

As if to spite Dean, the Impala suddenly let out one final hiss and stalled; right on the tracks.

"No, no, no," Dean urgently mumbled, trying desperately to start the car, "_C'mon!_"

Sam mumbled in his sleep at the sudden shout, and Dean look over. Not to see his brother, but the bright headlights of a train quickly approaching.

"Damn it!" Dean cried out, trying one last, futile time to get his car started.

Nothing.

"Sam!" Dean cried out, shoving his brother as he opened up his car door, "Sammy wake up! _Sammy!_"

"What!?" Sam jolted awake just in time to hear the loud, blaring horn of the quickly approaching train.

"Get out!" Dean yelled, "The train!"

Sam glanced out his window, his heart suddenly beating furiously in his chest. He looked back and saw Dean standing by the door.

"Dean go!" Sam demanded, "I'm right behind you!"

His brother took one last look in the car, and ran out to the front just as Sam attempted to open his door. It wouldn't budge, and the memories of that side of the car being smashed earlier in the day washed in Sam's head.

"Oh no," Sam whispered giving the door a hard jab with his elbow and shoulder.

It wouldn't give.

"_Sam!!_" Dean's frantic scream from outside the car was barely heard over the blaring of the train horn.

There was no way Sam would have enough time to get over the seat and out Dean's now closed door, and it seemed, in that moment, that time stopped. The age-old saying of seeing your life flash before your eyes suddenly was brought to life as Sam remembered everything in his life he'd done and still wanted to do. Dean was screaming outside the car, and Sam ducked his head to the side, wondering what to do in the mere seconds he had to left to live.

Then it moved.

Sam wasn't even sure it happened at first, but the Impala slid forwards quicker and quicker until just the tale end stuck out onto the track. It was then that Sam felt the heart churning jolt as the mere back end of Dean's precious car got grazed by the speeding train. The car fishtailed slightly at the impact as Sam jostled in the car; his heart pounding.

"Sam!" Sam, still ducked down partially in his seat, heard his brother's shouts as the train whizzed by mere centimeters from the back of the car.

It took a moment, but Sam finally sat up fully and crawled over to the drivers side. The door opened easily, and the train still careening by, Sam slowly got out.

"Careful Sammy," Dean warned, his voice breaking.

The train finished off it's nearly fatal trip, and silence enveloped the night air.

"Sam?" Dean's careful voice broke the silence as Sam stood, leaning against the diagonally parked car, staring at the red lights trailing the end of the train, "Sammy?"

Finally Sam turned to look at Dean, who looked more pale than usual, "Are you ok Dean?"

Dean laughed as he walked closer to Sam, "Dude, am _I_ ok?"

Sam smiled and looked down at his feet; trying to will his heart beat back to a somewhat normal pace. He barely noticed when his brother placed two hand on either side of his jaw.

"Sam look at me," Dean's voice was soft and Sam looked up, "Are you hurt?"

Sam smiled and shook his head, "No. I'm ok."

"You sure?" Dean asked, more for his own sake.

"I'm alright Dean, I swear," Sam insisted.

Dean walked a few feet away, "Man, what the hell happened?"

"Your car tried to team up with the train to get vengeance on us?" Sam smirked towards his brother.

"Funny," Dean washed his hand through his hair, "I mean, the car started moving."

Sam thought he'd imagined that.

"Wait a second," Dean suddenly spoke up after a moment, "Dude, do you have your laptop?"

"Yeah," Sam glanced at the car, "It's in the backseat."

Sam watching, Dean quickly grabbed the laptop from the backseat and moved to the front of the car where he could use the light from the headlights to see. He placed the computer on top of the hood and began typing away.

"You actually know sites that don't have the letters triple 'x' written at the top?" Sam questioned walking over.

"Shut up Sam," Dean bluntly responded, Sam grinning.

A moment later, Dean stopped typing and looked triumphantly at Sam.

"There," Dean pointed at the screen, "Read that."

Sam walked over to the lap top and began to read aloud, "'Back in 1973 near San Antonio a school bus carrying twenty-eight kids from ages eight to eighteen was hit by a freight train going too fast; all kids were killed. It is said that the souls of those children lost are now haunting the railroad tracks; pushing staled cars from the same fate done to them. The only proof of this theory is that of the children's handprints on the bumper of the vehicles.'"

"Hey Sam," Dean's voice spoke up.

"Yeah?"

Dean looked up from the bumper of the car, a weird expression on his face, "Come here a minute."

Sam walked over, and joined Dean at the end of the dented Impala. The brothers had driven hundreds of miles in the past few days, and as much as Dean swore he was going to wash the Impala soon, it had remained untouched, and dust ridden for days. Which made it all the easier to see, Sam realized as he joined Dean looking at the metallic, dented bumper.

The imprint of children's hands sat neatly in the dust.

The End


	6. To Say Goodbye

_Disclaimer: Hell no. (grins)_

_A/N: Alright ladies and gentlmen, it's here... my first death fic (granted I've only ever writen two... but this **is** the first one). Sorry it took me a little longer to post todays one shot; I had lots of school stuff. Anyways, this is a one shot entitled 'To Say Goodbye'. Other than that, and the fact that it is a death fic, I'm not going to say much more. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

_Title: To Say Goodbye  
Genre: Really angsty and tradegy.  
Summary: A short piece that might make ya want to grab a tissue..._

To Say Good-Bye

"Do you remember a few years ago when you went to college?" Dean spoke quietly, the cool air washing around his face, "You were so happy to leave. But me and Dad-- we were so pissed at you. I swear Dad wanted to throw you out a window or something. And me--" Dean laughed quietly, "I don't think I ever wanted to talk to you again. It wasn't because I didn't want you to go to college though. You want to know why I was mad at you?"

There was no answer.

"It was because I didn't want you to leave," Dean went on, "I wanted us to stay a family; to always be together. We were supposed to find the thing that killed Mom, and always be there for each other. And then you decided to go to college. To be independent."

Dean took the worn, black string from around his neck; his protective charm hanging from the end of it. For a moment the older Winchester let the silence fall as he gently fingered the old, metallic piece at the end of the necklace.

"But you know what I never did when you left Sammy?" Dean spoke again, "I never said good-bye to you. I just let you leave because I was so mad at you. Dad, he-- he thought it would be best to just let you go. He figured if you didn't want to be part of the family business than you shouldn't be part of the family. Of course he never meant it. And neither did I when I agreed with him. I was jealous of you Sam," Dean smiled, "Can you believe that? I was actually jealous of you. For years it was just me and Dad then. Dude-- I don't think there was a day that went by though, that we didn't end up talking about you. Wondering what you were up to and if you were doing ok. But we were both too stubborn to call you and ask.

Dean continued to stare down at his necklace; the still silence enveloping him. His Dad had given it to him when he was younger and first started hunting. He promised that it would protect him.

"There was one thing I always regretted though," Dean continued, "As Dad and I would run from demons and barely escape an angered spirit, I always wished I said good-bye to you. Even if I never wanted to see you again. Dad taught me to act like every hunt could be my last. And what if it was? What if I'd died and not said good-bye to you when you went off to college because of some stupid sibling jealousy? Dad never said it, but I know he felt bad too. When I came and found you after all that time, I never wanted to let you leave again without saying good-bye. I never wanted to go through life wondering if my next moment would be my last. I never again wanted to let you leave without you knowing that I really do care for you no matter how much crap I pull on you," Dean swallowed hard, "I never wanted to let you leave again without telling you good-bye."

Taking a deep breath Dean looked up, and placed this necklace at the base of the grave stone he was crouched in front of.

_Samuel Winchester  
May 2nd, 1983- March 4th, 2006  
Beloved brother, son and friend_

"Good-bye Sammy."

The End


	7. Snowman

_Disclaimer: Oh man... I've got, like eighteen stories writen at this moment... that means I have to think of eighteen ways to say 'no'..._

_A/N: Yay, ok, so my death fic didn't go down as bad as I thought it would. And so, today's one I decided to make a really unbelievably fluffy one. Haha, like, it's pretty 'aww' worthy. It takes place when Dean is nine, and Sam is five. Ever since I saw the episode 'Dean Man's Blood', I've always loved John, so in most of my stories, I portray him as a good guy; and this story is no exception.  
Oh, just a quick thing. One of you mentioned the date that was on the tombstone in the last story... I realize it was from last year. Haha, but I wrote the story last year, and so I just kept the date when I reposted it yesterday. Well, here's to today's; enjoy the fluff!_

* * *

_Title: Snowman  
Genre: Hahaha, fluff... complete, utter fluff.  
Summary: This is a one shot that takes place when the boys are little. John is about to go away for a while, and Dean is upset. A hunter on the surface, deep down, John is still a Dad..._

Snowman

"Dean, I'm going to be going out this weekend," John explained to nine year old Dean.

"A hunt Dad?" Dean had only known clearly about the world of demons and spirits for around a year, and it seemed like his Dad was always after something.

"Yes," John shifted through some books on his shelf, "But it's going to be overnight this time. I'm going to be going to the next town over. I want you to make sure you don't leave the house, and don't let Sammy out of your sight."

"I know Dad," Dean nodded picking up a book with some Latin words on it.

"And make sure you fill the buck shots with rock salt," John reminded him, sticking some of the books into a duffle bag.

"Ok Dad."

"And the book of incantations that I taught you will always be in the nightstand drawer," John motioned to the old oak night table, "I want you to read over them every night."

"Ok," Dean's voice had become softer.

John paused and looked at Dean. His son was barely nine years old and already he was putting the responsibility of a teenager on him. It was Christmas break and the snow fell in large flakes outside in the mild weather. Dean had always been mature. Always looked after Sam, and even John sometimes. But, the eldest man knew, his son also deserved some normalcy and fun in his life.

"Why don't you go outside son?" John put on a smile.

"What?" Dean scrunched up his eyebrows.

"Take Sammy, you both but on your snowsuits, and go outside," John explained, "I'll join you in a few minutes."

Dean smirked, "And do what?"

John shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know-- make a snowman."

This brought a small laugh out of Dean, though John also saw a shimmer of excitement in his eyes, "But… you're packing."

"I can finish later," John smiled, "Go get Sammy ready."

"Ok!" Dean cried out running out of the bedroom barely before his father finished the sentence, "Sammy! Hey Sammy!"

Dean raced into the living room and saw his five year old brother hanging upside down from the couch staring at the tv.

"Sammy, Dad said--" Dean paused, "What are you doing?"

"Watch'n tv," Sam replied simply, his curls of brown hair hanging down.

"Upside down?" Dean half laughed.

"It looks like they're fight'n in the sky," Sam observed.

"Ok," Dean paused a moment before the excitement bubbled back out of him, "Hey Sammy, Dad said to get your snowsuit on."

Sam did a flip with a thump on the floor and looked at Dean, "Why?"

"We're gonna go outside," Dean grinned.

Sam looked out the window, "But it's dark. Daddy said to stay 'way from the dark."

Dean thought about this too, "Yeah, but it's only six. The dark isn't bad at six."

Sam pondered this theory before also bursting out into a grin, "Is Daddy gonna come outside too?"

"Yeah!" Dean immediately went to the closet at the far end of the room and began to grab out the winter cloths.

Most of the time Dean just wore his winter jacket outside, and so had to dig deep to find his snow pants thrown at the bottom. He grabbed Sam's navy blue snowsuit and tossed it over to his little brother as Dean began to pull on his own dark blue snow pants. Within moments Dean had successfully dressed himself in the jacket and pants and looked over to see Sam still struggling to get his legs in the snowsuit.

"Need some help?" Dean asked.

"Uh huh," Sam grunted sitting on his bottom in the midst of winter clothing.

"First off," Dean lifted Sam to his feet, "It helps if you're standing."

A mere five minutes went by before Dean had his little brother bundled up. With a quick slipping on of his own boots and a hat and mitts, the two Winchester boys went out into the front yard. The house was small; two bedrooms only and easily a house made in the fifties or sixties. John told Dean that they were only going to be there another couple of months, but until then Dean actually liked the house. It had a large front yard that allowed himself and Sam to run around in on warm days.

The snow fell down around Sam and Dean and for a moment they stood there enjoying the winter evening scene; the light from the front door casting a yellow glow out onto them.

"It's pretty," Sam smiled.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "It is."

"What're we gonna do?" Sam asked crouching down and picking up some snow.

Dean remembered what his Dad had told him, "We're gonna make a snowman."

"Oh boy!!" Sam jumped up and down, "A snowman! My friend said that _he_ made one. An' then you said we could but you forgot an--"

"Alright Sammy," Dean laughed, "Lets get to work."

Sam made a move to start but paused, "Wadda we do?"

Dean took the snowball from his little brothers hand and started to roll it in the fresh snow, "We gotta make this real big."

"How big?" Sam asked following alongside Dean, watching the snowball get bigger.

"Real big," Dean declared.

"An' then what?" Sam asked as Dean began to push the snowball around the yard with both hands.

"Then we make two more," Dean informed him.

"An' then what?"

"And then--" a voice came from the doorway and Sam and Dean looked over to see John dressed in his winter jacket, hat and gloves, with an armful of things, "We stack them on top of each other and dress the snowman really silly."

"Daddy!" Sam ran over to his Dad, "Daddy, Dean said we're make'n a snowman!"

"We sure are buddy," John grinned at his youngest, "Now why don't we start on the next snowball while Dean works on that one."

"Ok!" Sam grabbed a handful of snow and began to repeat what he saw his brother do moments before.

And hour of giggling and sporadic snowball fights went by, but soon three large snowballs were stacked up proudly in the middle of the yard.

"Is it a snowman yet?" Sam asked; his cheeks rosy.

"Not yet," John walked towards the door and grabbed the items which he'd placed there, "We have to dress him up."

Sam stared wide eyed as John placed an old scarf, a hat, two mismatched mitts, two sticks, a long carrot, two Oreo cookies and a piece of liquorish all onto the snow.

"What're those?" Sam asked.

"You see," Dean jumped over and grabbed the two sticks, "These are the arms Sammy. We gotta put them into the side of him like this."

Dean jabbed each stick carefully onto either side of the middle snowball.

"And then," Dean grabbed one of the mitts and handed the other to Sam, "We gotta stick the mitts on the end so his hands don't get cold."

Sam giggled at this and carefully followed his brothers movements on putting the old mitt carefully at the end of the stick.

"The liquorish is for the mouth," John then explained, grabbing the red piece of candy and shaping it into that of a smiling face on the head of the snowman.

"Wow," Sam smiled, "He's smiling Daddy!"

"Yep," Dean grabbed the carrot, "This is the nose."

With a large plop Dean went on the tip of his toes and stuck the carrot into the center of the face.

"The cookies," John grabbed them, "Are for the eyes. Dean, do you want to put one in and then Sammy can do the other one?"

"Ok!" Dean took one of the dark circled cookies and reached as far as he could to stick it on the face.

"I can't reach Daddy," Sam frowned looking up.

John smiled and lifted his youngest up in his arms. With far more precision than his older brother had used, Sam placed the cookie on the snowman's head to complete the face.

"Now what?" Sam looked down at the hat and scarf.

"The scarf," John took the fringed material and wrapped it around the 'neck', "to make sure he doesn't get cold."

"And the hat Dad!" Dean cried out, "You gotta put the hat on too."

"Can I please Daddy," Sam gave his puppy dog look that made his brother and Dad melt, "_Please_."

John glanced at a smiling Dean who nodded.

"Alright Sammy, up you go," again John lifted Sam up, and with a proud smile Sam plopped the old hat on top.

"Yay!" Sam scampered down and backed up a few feet, "It's done! The snowman is done!"

"It's a pretty good snowman Sammy," Dean nodded.

"That it is," John agreed, "You boys did a good job."

"Thanks Daddy," Sam smiled; the snow continuing to fall lightly around them, "Now we have something to protect us."

"What do you mean?" John asked, and saw out of the corner of his eye Dean's eyes widen.

"Protect us," Sam stated simply, "From the dark."

"Uh Sam--" Dean began.

John put on a large grin and quickly interrupted, "No, you know what Dean, I think Sammy's right. This snowman _will_ protect us."

"Really?" Dean's eyes widened.

"Sure it will," John nodded, "Now why don't you boys go inside and get undressed. I'll be in in a minute and make some hot chocolate."

"Ok," Dean grabbed Sam's wet mitt, "Come on Sammy."

After his sons went inside John took a moment to look at the snowman. It was perfect in every way; from its Oreo eyes to it's mismatched hands. And Sam was right, it was going to protect the family. Because every time that John Winchester would leave the house, he'd see it, and it would remind him of what mattered most in his life. Not the things that go bump in the night, but the things that warmed his heart.

His boys.

With another smile, John took in the snowman one last time before heading into the house for hot chocolate.

The End


	8. No Good Terrible Really Bad Day

_Disclaimer: These character are in no way mine and-- wow, how can a person actually get all the way through a disclaimer?_

_A/N: I don't have too much to say for this story at all. Haha, it's title pretty much explains it all. It's a story that's inspired and dedicated to Windy Fontaine, as I wrote this after she was telling me she was having a bad day..._

* * *

_Title: No Good Terrible Really Bad Day  
Genre: This story has a little bit of everything in it. But in the end, we all love the brotherly fluff...  
Summary: A story in which Dean is having a really bad day, and Sam tries to think of what he can do to help..._

No Good Terrible Really Bad Day

"_Damn it!!_" the yell of anger was heard all the way from the bathroom as Sam finished up his shower, "Sam!"

Sam quickly dried himself off, and slipped on his pants. Dean was mad, and if he was bellowing his name, Sam figured the elder brother was ready to accuse him for something. In his mind, Sam tried to figure out anything that he could have done. He'd borrowed the Impala the day before, but had been sure to top off the gas.

With his wet hair dripping onto his bare chest Sam walked into the open living area of the hotel room, "What is it?"

Dean held up his cell phone accusingly, "Did you unplug my phone last night?"

Sam almost laughed at the question, "No. Why would I unplug your phone?"

"Well someone did!" Dean barked, "It's dead!"

"Well I don't know!" Sam was getting angry himself, "Maybe you just forgot to plug it in last night."

"And maybe you forgot that you unplugged it," Dean spat out, "Dude, I'm supposed to go down to the cemetery tonight to scout for the grave. How the hell am I supposed to contact you!"

Sam took a deep breath to calm himself, "Here," he said, sticking his hand into his jean pocket, "Use my phone."

Wordlessly Dean grabbed the phone out of Sam's hand and slammed out the door. Sam knew he wasn't leaving yet to go to the graveyard, but assumed he was getting something to eat. This gave the twenty-three year old time to finish getting dressed. He'd only just put on a t-shirt and fully dried his hair when the slam of the door to their hotel room caused Sam to jump. Dean strode in, anger plastered on his face.

Without a word the elder brother shoved Sam out of the way and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Sam waited a moment, "Dean… are you ok?"

The sound of running water then came on, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean was rinsing off his face rather than actually doing anything significant. A moment later the door opened, and sure enough Dean walked out, his face wet.

"Dean?" Sam tried again.

"Just leave me alone Sammy," Dean huffed walking over to his bed and going through his bag.

Sam knew that Dean was in a bad mood, "Hey Dean, want me to go pick up something for us to eat?" he paused a moment, "My treat."

"I'm not hungry," Dean replied coldly.

Sam sat on his own bed, opening his lap top to browse the internet. The next hour went by uneventfully until a knock came at the door. Dean jumped at the sound; promptly knocking his cup of coffee all over the bed.

"Damn it!" he cried out, shaking the hot liquid from his hands and walking towards the door.

Sam looked sympathetically at his big brother; it really wasn't Dean's day. By the time the grumbling Dean came back Sam was in the process of removing the wet sheets.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean frowned.

A hundred smart ass replies came to Sam's mind, but he decided, in consideration of his brother's mood, for the truth, "Changing the sheets."

"I don't need your fricken help," Dean snatched the sheets out of Sam's hands, "The manager just came and said we're short twenty bucks. That was my supper money!"

"Dean, I said I'd get you something to eat," Sam tried to keep the hurt from his voice.

"And I said I wasn't hungry!" Dean shot back.

"Why don't we go down to the bar," Sam suggested, "We can have a few beers and maybe play some darts or pool or something."

"I would," Dean steamed, "If my rear tire of the car wasn't flat."

Sam didn't know what to say. He remembered one time when they were really little Dean was having a bad day, and was sitting on the couch crying.

'_He couldn't have been more than eight_,' Sam recalled.

In Sam's innocent youth, all he'd done was walk over to Dean, sat beside him and gave his big brother a hug with the comforting words of 'It'll be ok.'. Dean later brought Sam an ice cream cone with a handmade card reading '_Thank you Sammy_' on it. Things were different now, and they were grown up. Sam was pretty sure if he tried to walk over to Dean and hug him now, he'd find himself lying flat on the floor.

Instead the younger brother remained silent.

"I'm leaving now," Dean grumbled a while later, "I'm gonna fix the tire and head out. I'll phone you if I find anything."

"Ok Dean," Sam said as the door slammed shut, "…be careful."

It wasn't that his big brother wasn't always careful, but when he was in a bad mood, Dean could be a little sloppy. With a smile on his face, Sam thought of something and left out the door not even ten minutes after his brother left.

An hour and a half later Dean walked into a relatively silent hotel room. He'd searched every single grave with no luck, and was about ready to punch his hand through a wall. The sound of the shower greeted him, and Dean wondered briefly why his brother was having a shower again.

"The kid didn't even go out today," Dean mumbled tossing his jacket onto one of the chairs.

It was then that he noticed something on the table. Curiously he walked over and saw a six pack, his fully charged phone and a twenty dollar bill. On top of it was a piece of paper with the rough writing of Sam's reading '_It'll be ok._'. Slowly a large smile came to Dean's face. He ran his hand through his hair and was startled to find tears brimming in his eyes. It was then that he realized how horrible he'd been to his little brother all day. Looking around quickly, Dean grabbed his wallet and rushed out the door heading to the lobby down the hall.

Ten minutes later Sam finished up in the shower. He'd heard Dean come in, and thought he heard him leave and come back since. He wasn't sure how his little gesture would be taken but figured he didn't have too much to loose. Taking a deep breath he walked out of the bathroom. Glancing over, Dean was sitting on his bed, beer in hand reading the latest edition of _Maxim_ magazine. The younger brother walked over to his bed to shove his dirty cloths away, and that's when he saw it.

Sitting on top of the bed sheet was a wrapped Drumstick Ice Cream cone with a piece of paper on top. Dean's handwriting stuck out in big letters;

'_Thank you Sammy_'

The End


	9. Just Another Night

_Disclaimer: Why did I ever get into doing witty ways of saying no?_

_A/N: Alright people, there's a warning that goes with this story, but a different kind of warning. And the warning is not really a warning, it's more of a... well, I dunno what it is. Either way, here it is: keep reading no matter what. Haha, in other words, some of you may want to stop once you start, but, trust me, and don't. Read to the end and I promise you won't be disappointed. I was having some fun with this story, and was dipping my toes into theoretical waters as I did it. This story is also a request story that I got... though I'm not going to say which one because that would kindda give stuff away, but I'm sure you can figure it out by the end. Haha, ok, I'll shut-up-- here it is!!_

* * *

_Title: Just Another Night ( --of which I have no idea why I called it that, haha)  
Genre: (takes deep breath) Angsty, angsty, angsty, angsty... wow, that word has lost all meaning. But it is VERY angsty, and kindda tradegy...  
Summary: There's not much to say to this... what happens when Dean faces what he fears?_

Just Another Night

Dean looked around him. There wasn't very many people there; some people around Sam's age, and a few adults. It was the person to Dean's right that shocked him when he first arrived. John Winchester was like the elusive firefly that you try and catch when you're six years old on a warm summer evening. For the man to show himself in public in the middle of the day was something second glance worthy. Then again, Dean, in the back of his mind, expected no less.

It was Sammy's funeral.

"When--" Dean choked on his words and didn't dare look at his father, "When do you want to--"

Full sentences weren't something the older brother could manage as the priest at the front began to drone on. He was the only brother now.

John took a moment to compose himself, and even so his voice quivered as he spoke, "We'll get rid of the body tonight."

No words could escape Dean as silent tears fell down his face. Instead he stared straight a head and looked some more at the people. A lady to the right sobbed into a man's black jacket, and Dean thought he recognized the couple as Jessica's parents. The plot was set near the stone which read 'Mary Winchester', and Dean cringed as he pictured having to dig up the spot later that night. There was much controversy as to whether to burn Sam's body before, but John had smartly pointed out that many of the guests would want to see Sam to say goodbye. Also if they left it to the coroner, it might not be done correctly.

It was then that Dean felt grateful that the bastard spirit that attacked Sam had left his face untouched. Dean didn't even realize that his Sammy was hurt at first...

"_This son of a bitch won't let up!" Dean had yelled towards Sam, "Watch it though Sam; it had some sort of blade in it's hand."_

_Dean looked over to see Sam half laying on the ground, his hand over his stomach. The kid had been knocked hard against the wall, and as Dean poised his shotgun around the room, waiting for the evil to show itself again, the elder brother figured Sam needed just a moment to catch his breath._

"_Alright princess, break's up," Dean joked, ready to move to the next room._

_Sam stared over at Dean, an expression unreadable on his face._

"_Sam," Dean paused, "Hey, are you ok?"_

"_D-Dean," Sam uttered out the single word, and Dean's blood ran cold when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth._

"_Oh God," Dean made it over to his little brother in two quick steps, "Sam!"_

_Sam's lips quivered, and his mouth opened to make a sound, but nothing came out._

"_Sammy," Dean moved the hand that was covering his brothers stomach, and saw a large slice; blood coming out thickly, "Oh God no…"_

"_D-D-Dean… I-I--" more and more blood flowed freely from the deep wound on Sam's stomach and now his mouth._

"_Shh, shh--" Dean's voice shook as he quickly took off his outer shirt, "It's ok Sammy, it'll be ok, don't try to talk right now."_

_Dean quickly folded up his shirt and pressed it against the wound; Sam didn't even flinch. The elder brother's hands shook as he looked around; cussing himself for leaving the phone in the car._

"_D-D-De--" Sam's gasping breath, and ashen skin weren't a good sign._

"_Shh Sammy," Dean stroked some sweat laden hair from his little brothers forehead, "It's ok. Everything will be ok."_

_The words were far from the truth as Dean looked down at the completely blood soaked shirt which he'd feebly tried to stop the bleeding with. Dean knew he had to get help, but the heart wrenching thought that his baby brother would be gone by the time he came back stopped him from doing this._

_Sam's eyes were slowing beginning to close, "D-De-Dean…"_

_Although no tears ran down Sam's face, they came down Dean's as he continued to hold the cloth in place with one hand, and stroke his brother's forehead with the other, "Yeah?"_

_Sam's eyes looked at Dean one last pleading moment, "I-It's s-s-so c-cold…"_

_No response would be heard as the youngest Winchester closed his eyes for the last time, and all Dean could do was hold him…_

And now Dean stood by the gravesite of his only brother; his Dad mere feet away and all of the people that loved Sam around the last memory of him. They would all leave soon to a small church off the highway; someone Dean didn't even know made up a lunch for even more people he didn't know. Dean didn't care though; he wasn't going to be there.

Dean barely noticed then, as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Son?" John spoke up and Dean turned to face him, "Are you going to come? Pastor Jim will be there along with Caleb and Bobby. They want to see you."

Dean shook his head as he turned his attention back to people slowly pouring dirt over his brother, "No."

"Alright," John didn't want to push the matter, "I'll meet you back here tonight at just after eleven."

If someone had asked Dean what happened in the eight hours he sat in the small cemetery, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. The young man shifted back and forth from talking to his little brother and Mom to sitting in the car for over an hour at a time listening to music. By the time his Dad showed up in his large, dark truck, the night had long since fallen.

"Dean?" John walked over to where his now only son was crouched by the fresh grave, "Dean… how are you doing?"

Dean stood up and cleared his throat, "I'm doing ok. You have the stuff?"

John held up two shovels in one hand and the two got to work. It took not even half an hour to get all of the dirt out of the way and reveal the top of the coffin. A dirt crushed rose that was thrown in by Sam's old friend Rebecca sat limply on top. Dean paused a moment.

"Do you want me to?" John questioned on the opening of the coffin.

Wordlessly Dean nodded, and Dean was grateful as his Dad made no comment to the weakness Dean was showing. A moment later the Winchester's found themselves looking down at the familiar face of Samuel Winchester. Dean choked back a sob; Sam looked so peaceful-- as if he were sleeping.

Sam was never one to wear formal, and complained when he was forced to. Jeans and a button down white shirt was what adorned the corpse now, and for nearly a minute the two just stared.

"We should--" Dean started, but again found himself unable to finish his sentence.

"I have the salt and gasoline," John spoke softly, "Do you have--"

"Matches," Dean pulled out a small pack from his pocket.

John climbed out of the shallow grave and extended a hand to Dean. Dean gratefully took the support for his emotionally and physically exhausted body, and again found himself standing, staring at his little brother for what he knew would be the last time. It was John who started the ritual, sprinkling salt and gasoline onto the body while muttering Latin under his breath. Dean wanted nothing to do with any of it, and gladly let his Dad do the work.

"Ok Dean," John nodded, "Light it."

Dean found his lower lip trembling as he took out the matches.

"Goodbye Sammy," his hoarse voice came out and, closing his eyes, Dean threw in the lit match book.

He didn't have to see to feel the heat from the burning body that was once his brother. When he opened his eyes, however, the sight looking back at him was not what he expected.

John was staring intently at Dean, a cold look on his face.

"Dad?" Dean took a step back, "What's wrong?"

A smile washed through John's face, and his eyes flashed yellow.

"No," Dean gasped.

"Guess what Dean," John's voice shook demonically, "You're next."

"_No!_" Dean screamed out…

"No--!" Dean gasped and struggled to get his bearings.

Everything was dark, and Dean felt sweat pour down his face as his heart pounded furiously in his chest. Something was twisted around him, and in the struggle to figure out where he was and what was happening Dean felt himself slide off something and thump hard to the ground.

"Dean…" a tired sounding voice rung out and a second later a light came on.

Dean looked around frantically and saw he was laying in between two beds; sheets and part of a blanket wrapped around him. He looked up suddenly and saw Sam staring questionably at him.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out struggling to get to his feet.

The task proved difficult to the sweat soaked brother, and by the time he'd successfully gotten to his feet, Sam was already sitting up in bed, fully awake. Dean stood, staring, letting the blanket drop to reveal his pajama bottoms.

'_Don't move, don't move, don't move!_' Dean urged himself, sure that if he even breathed the wrong way that Sam would disappear.

Sam noticed the distressed look on his brothers face, and immediately got to his own feet, "Dean, are you ok?"

"S-Sam--" Dean put his hand out towards Sam.

"Dude--" Sam forced a smile to lighten the mood, "What's going on?"

"Oh my God," Dean slumped onto the bed, his hands covering his face, "It was just a dream…"

"Dean?" Sam sat on his own bed, directly across from his brother, "What happened?"

Dean looked up at his brothers tired face and smiled, "Damn it's good to see you Sammy."

"Ok now you're really scaring me," Sam arched an eyebrow, "Not three hours ago you were pissed at me for getting you onion rings instead of fries, and now you're happy to see me? I would love to know what kind of dream causes that."

"No you don't," Dean shook his head, his insides still shaking, "Trust me Sammy, you don't."

Sam got up and walked to the mini fridge in the corner of the room, "Ok, I'll let you get away with calling me Sammy one more time before I start calling you Deany."

Dean laughed, and continued to watch his brother. Somehow the sight of the six foot four, messy haired man he'd called his brother all his life was one of the best sights in the world. His brother was alive, none of what he'd dreamed was real. Suddenly he understood how Sam would feel when he got one of his visions.

"Here," Sam handed Dean a bottle of water and a bottle of sleeping pills, "That should help."

"Oh come on Sammy, I'm not going to take these," Dean complained, "I mean, what if something came to attack your ass tonight; I don't want to sleep through it."

Sam smiled, "Dean, I'm fine. Ok? I don't know what happened in your dream--"

"And I'm not going to tell you," Dean put in.

"Alright," Sam knew better than to argue, "But man, if you want to talk about it ever…"

Dean shook his head, "Sam, I'm all right. I'll be all right. I promise-- as long as I can keep your sorry ass from picking the short straw, then I'll be ok."

Sam smiled, "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Dean shrugged as he took a large gulp of water, "I'll just take all the straws."

Sam laughed and picked up Dean's blanket and sheets from the floor, "Listen Dean, it's only two thirty. Think you'll be able to get back to sleep ok?"

"Yes," Dean stared playfully at Sam, "But only if you sing me a lullaby."

Sam glared at his older brother as he got back into his bed comfortably. Dean took a deep, serious breath, his heart rate was almost back to normal, and hearing Sam joke around with him was something he never knew he'd miss. Sam was right in the fact that Dean would never be able to stop him completely from getting hurt.

But that wouldn't stop him from trying.

The older brother took another last drink water and pulled the covers back up over him as he lay down, "Good night Sammy."

Sam leaned over and turned off the light; the words echoing in the still room, "Good night Deany."

The End


	10. Those Three Words

_Disclaimer: I must never lie. No._

**_Sorry this took me so long to post. The web site was not liking me (cries!...haha), and so wouldn't let me access my stories to post this. But it is back, as am I. I should have a new chapter of 'A Windy Story' out tomorrow-- until then-- enjoy this!!_**

_A/N: Wow, ok, I don't usually put any thanks in my A/N for one particular reviewer, but I really have to say thank you to Ziggy; haha, you went and reviewed every one of my one shots in a row; thanks! (thank you as well to everyone else!!) Today's one shot is another drabble. The very first drabble I ever wrote, it's only 150 words, and you could probably read it quicker than these added notes. Either way, I hope you enjoy it, and keep reviewing! Thanks!_

* * *

_Title: Those Three Words  
Genre: Ok, this one pretty much is just humour...  
Summary: This is a challenge that I was given for a 150 word drabble... it was actually quite hard as most of my stuff is so much longer! --in it Sam is trying to get Dean just to say three simple words..._

Those Three Words

"Come on Dean," Sam smiled, "Just say it."

Dean smirked, "No way man."

"Why not?" Sam countered, sitting in the passenger side of the Impala.

"Because it's just not something a guy says," Dean defended after a moment.

"I'll help you," Sam was having fun with this, "The first word is 'I--'… all you have to do is fill in the rest."

"You think you're a smart ass, don't you?"

Sam sighed, "Dean, I almost died today. That damn spirit that you said was gone wasn't, and I went flying out the window. If--"

"I know, ok," Dean's voice quivered slightly at the memory, "I was there."

"See," Sam attempted to soften his voice, "Come on… just say it."

Dean stared onto the highway before glancing sideways at his little brother, "Ok Sammy… I---"

Sam smiled victoriously.

Dean took a deep breath, "I was wrong."

The End


	11. Truth Be Told

_Disclaimer: Aww crap... if I start repeating ways of saying no, will you guys even notice?_

_A/N: Howdy people! Ok-- todays one shot... no warning really needed. It is one where Sam is fricken two years old, so it was fun to write. Again, yes, I love good guy John, so he, obviously is in this. Neither Sam nore Dean (who is seven years old) know anything about the supernatural world. It was a fun little thing that I came up with quite some time back.  
Just a little pleading here-- can you guys shoot out some ideas for one shots? I've been copying every one of them, and have finished most of them-- and you all have such great ideas! Thanks so much! Well-- enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: Truth Be Told  
Genre: There's a lot of everything in this; angst, some fluff...  
Summary: John is still struggling with his wife's death and everything happening when, one day, he leaves seven year old Dean alone with his baby brother for just a few minutes..._

Truth Be Told

For one; Dean didn't want to watch Sam. For two; his Dad couldn't tell him what to do! He was seven years old. When his Dad told him to watch Sammy for five minutes while he went to the store, there was no way he would do it without at least getting something out of it.

"Can ya get me something?" Dean stood by the door as his Dad put his jacket on.

"I tell you what Sport, I'll get you _one_ treat," John's eyes sparkled, "_If_, and only if you watch Sammy and finish packing up those books in the living room."

"The books?" Dean played with the end of his shirt around his finger.

"Yes," John sighed, "Dean, we're moving in less than a week, now please, I want everything packed up by Thursday."

Dean pondered this agreement for a moment, "Alight Dad. But it better be a good treat," he paused, "And something for Sammy too."

"Don't worry about what it will be," John winked, "and I always get Sammy something if you get something."

"Ok," Dean put on a grin.

"If there's any problems, Mr. and Mrs. Peters are next door," John reminded as he headed out the front door, "I won't be longer than ten minutes."

"Ok Dad!" Dean called out the door.

John Winchester got into his trusty black Impala and started it up. Something had felt off that day, and try as the man did, he couldn't shake the feeling. Maybe it was memories from the night Mary was killed; it had been almost exactly two years. Counselors had been talking to John weekly to try and help him cope. The stubborn Winchester still wasn't sure whether that had been a good idea; pretty much anything he'd told the grief councilor had been claimed to be fabrication of his imagination.

His wife pinned to the ceiling was the one that hurt John the most. He was sure of what he'd seen that night. Or was he? Demons and ghosts were something that Dean read about in his comic and adventure books; not something in real life. At least that's what the counselors told him, and finally, after nearly two years John was starting to think it was true. Which is why when they suggested that John moved away from the home and start anew, he decided to do such a thing.

One of the more embarrassing things that they told John to do was write in a journal to help express his feelings of grief. Reluctant at first, John finally decided to do this seemingly high school girl thing if nothing else than to help his boys. And so now John Winchester drove towards the corner store to pick up a treat for his sons and to pick out a journal to start his new life in.

Unknown to him the events that were happening in his home…

"Dean," Sam walked innocently into the kitchen where Dean was searching the fridge for something to drink.

"Hi Sammy," Dean smiled down at his brother.

Sam's eyes were still half closed from his recently awoken nap. His mass of curly brown hair stuck out at odd angles as his yellow t-shirt was half tucked into his twisted jean shorts.

"Where's Daddy?" Sam's small, tired voice came out.

"He went to the store for a few minutes," Dean successfully found a container of juice and took a swig from it, "And he's going to bring us back a treat!"

Sam's eyes widened in excitement and a smile came to his face.

"But we gotta pack up the books," Dean frowned, "Wanna help Sammy?"

"Yeah!" Sam bounced into the living room.

"We gotta put all these books in the box," Dean motioned to a large pile of books on the floor, "So you give them to me, and I'll put them in."

Sam crouched down and carefully picked up a large book.

"Sammy, pick up smaller books," Dean frowned as his little brother struggled to get into a standing position.

No sooner had the toddler done this than the lights suddenly turned out, and Dean heard a thump of Sam dropping the book to the floor.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, and immediately Dean sensed the tears coming down his baby brothers face.

The room was suddenly dark, and Dean couldn't even see Sam two feet away from him, "S-Sammy… it's ok--"

His heart pounded in his chest, and Dean took a tentative step forwards; stubbing his toe painfully against a large book. Sam's sobs became louder, and Dean felt his own tears springing to his eyes.

_Why was it so dark!?_

"S-Sammy, it's ok," Dean's voice quivered, "The p-power just went out. I'll find you. You j-just have to keep talking Sammy."

Sam's voice was barely audible through his tears, "D-Dean…"

Dean was about to make a reply when he glanced into the darkness and saw a white mist twirl and move like an eerie dance. A cold feeling came in the pit of the seven year olds stomach and he knew that whatever it was, it was bad. The mist moved closer and closer, and Dean's own tears came down his face as he frantically tried to find Sam.

"No… no…" Dean gasped out, the thing coming closer, "please… no… Sammy…"

"_Hey!_" suddenly a loud booming voice came out, and immediately the lights came back on; the mist disappearing.

Dean looked quickly at the door and saw his Dad standing there; eyes wide.

"Dean!" John cried out, "Sammy! Are you two alright?"

"_Daddy!_" Sam cried out, getting up and running into his Dad's open arms.

John held onto his youngest son in a tight embrace, his own heart racing. His hand rubbed up and down the two year olds back to try and stop the sobs that continued to come from his small body.

"Shh, it's alright Sammy," John soothed, "You're ok. It's ok."

Sam clung onto John tightly.

"Dean," John's voice cracked as he looked down at his oldest son, who remained half sitting on the floor, "son, are you ok?"

Dean wordlessly nodded.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Dean got up and walked over to his Dad, "I'm ok."

Balancing a still crying Sam in one hand, John wrapped his arm around his other son, rubbing his shoulder for a moment before moving back to look at his tear filled eyes.

"It was just a power outage," John said with a forced smile, "It's ok."

"I couldn't find Sammy," Dean's voice was small, "I heard him crying, but I couldn't find him."

"I know, it's alright," John's voice was soft and comforting.

"Is he ok?" Dean peered up at Sam who was molded into his Dad's chest.

"He's ok," John pulled Sam back a little to look at his red, tearstained face, "You're ok, right Sammy?"

Sam gave a loud hiccough before nodding his head. John crouched down and coaxed Sam onto the ground.

"Alright," John looked at both of his boys; each with fear and tears still in their eyes, "Dean, why don't you take Sammy into the kitchen. There's a bag on the counter with two ice cream cones in it that I bet you'd both love."

"Ok," Dean's voice wavered only a moment as he looked at Sam, "Do you want some ice cream Sammy?"

A small smile came to Sam's lips as he nodded, "Yeah."

"Come on," Dean took Sam's hand and lead him into the kitchen.

John stood in the living room, and stared at the scattered boxes and books and half packed things. It would be many years before Dean Winchester admitted to his Dad what he saw in the living room that day. It would be even more years before John told Dean that he, too, saw the presence in the room when he walked into the house.

It would only be weeks, however, before John's newly bought journal would be started…

'_I went to Missouri and I learned the truth…_'

The End


	12. The Letter

_Disclaimer: Ha! I won't say anything... what're you gonna do now huh? _

_A/N: Alright people... deep breaths... it's time again. A death fic is here. It's the last one that I have, so you have the knowledge of knowing that there will be no more. I realized something as I was getting ready to post this... this one shot might give something away about me... but we'll see if anyone notices.  
Ok, so a huge thanks to Dawn N for all of the one shot ideas! I've copied them all down and am so excited to start working on them! Anyone else who has ideas; feel free! Well... read on--_

* * *

_Title: The Letter  
Genre: Angst... lots of angst...  
Summary: At the hotel one evening Dean writes a letter to Sam while the brothers try and relax after a hard hunt..._

The Letter

_Dear Sam,_

_Dear is such a fricken annoying thing to write at the beginning of a letter, and yet I'm using it anyways. I mean, it's not like someone starts talking to a person by saying 'Dear whoever, how was your day…', they'd get punched. At least I'd cream them-- keep that in mind little brother. I do have a point to this letter though-- I need to tell you something._

"Dean!" Sam's voice caused Dean to jump and he inconspicuously hid the paper he'd been writing on.

"Yeah?" Dean cleared his throat, and pretended he was looking at the paper that was laid out on the bed in front of him.

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously, "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "I was just looking for any gigs around here. What did you want?"

"Umm," Sam smiled, knowing his brother was a horrible liar, "I was just wondering if you had to go to the bathroom? I was going to jump into the shower."

"No, I'm good. Go wash up princess," Dean smirked.

Sam mumbled some inaudible cuss words at Dean as he grabbed a small bag and headed into the bathroom. The hotel room they were staying in was smaller than usual, and Dean could easily hear as his brother started up the shower.

'_He deserves a nice relaxing shower_,' Dean thought, '_After what happened in Middleton._'

The battle was tough. The Winchester brothers went in with no clue what would happen, and left with even less of a clue of what did happen. Dean was the first to get knocked out by the demon that was attacking children in an orphanage, and by the time he regained consciousness it was just in time to see his little brother be flung across the room, and the torturous thing to disappear into nothing. It was at that instant that Dean knew that there was something terribly wrong.

The constant sound of the shower going let Dean know that it was safe to write again.

_Do you remember when you were about six and asked what happened to Mom? God, I do-- you came home from school that day in tears because some kid was making fun of you for not having a Mom. I beat the crap out of him the next day. Damn… you were so upset about the things he said Sam. You didn't understand-- Dad hadn't had the 'talk' with you yet._

_I had always wondered if it was better before or after you found out about all the crap in the world. That day showed me that knowledge was better than ignorance as Dad told you some BS story about Mom having died in a fire. You cried for a week Kid. I tried to help, but I was only ten and had just found out about the things that go bump in the night. But do you remember what really did help?_ --

"Ok, I swear to God I am going to get fricken bells for you," Dean shot out as Sam suddenly seemed to appear in front of Dean, "I thought you were having a shower."

"I did," Sam casually said sitting on the end of the bed, "You've been writing the whole time. What is that-- a love letter?"

"No Sammy, it's a letter to Santa Claus," Dean smirked, "I've killed a lot of things, but I'm still a good kid, I promise, and I have to tell him that."

Sam laughed, "You're ridiculous."

"And hungry," Dean put in, "Go grab something to eat. There's a place just on the corner."

Sam slipped on his jacket gracefully, "I need some money."

"By my jacket," Dean called out, looking deeply into the paper he was using as a feeble alibi.

Sam picked up Dean's wallet and, giving one last look at Dean, headed out the front door. Dean felt momentarily guilty about not offering to get the food, or at least giving Sam the keys to the car, but then realized how much Sam loved walking. Besides which, it would give him more time to write.

_I told you that Mom went to Heaven. Dad hated that theory-- he forever wanted to believe that maybe she was a spirit here on Earth, ready to help us and protect us. I promised him that I'd tell you the 'truth' when you got older, but the Mom in Heaven theory stopped your tears. It was great-- your ignorance on death. But it worked. I kept the pain from you if for even another couple of years._

_Years is good. But sometimes all a person needs is a couple of hours. Remember Bubbles? You begged Dad for a fish forever. For Christmas one year I got you it, and though Dad was pissed, not even he could deny how happy that damn thing made you. You fed him everyday, and paid me a nickel when you went to Jackie's house to read it a story before bed. Sorry Sam, I never did do that; thanks for the nickel though. But then one day that damn thing died. I found it in the morning floating somewhere between the rubber duck you dropped in the tank for 'company', and the extra food you gave Bubbles because 'it was winter, and they need more food'. So I took you down to the basement without letting you see the fish, and we talked about the stupid fish like it was your best friend. You got to say goodbye to it, even though I'm pretty sure you knew it was dead. You always were smart that way (the fact that we could hear Dad chucking out the fish upstairs didn't help)._

_A couple of hours of ignorance. A split moment that you can pretend that the world is great and normal. That Bubbles really didn't die from a giant plastic duck. That Mom didn't die from a demon when you were six months old. That--_

Dean looked up with a small, sad smile on his lips, and glanced around the room. The hotel room they were staying in was smaller than usual, and Dean could easily hear as his brother started up the shower. Or could he?

Sam's jacket lay bloodstained on the table.

Dean's wallet was untouched by his own jacket; fifteen dollars and thirty-two cents sitting in it.

--_That sometimes a person has to leave the blissful ignorance and say it._

_Good bye Sammy._

_Love Dean._

The End


	13. 40 Minutes

_Disclaimer: no_

_A/N: Hey guys-- sorry today's one shot is a little late... I had to get it off of the school computer, and it took me a while to get the time to go there. Anyways, this one shot is one that I've posted before. It's actually from my 'What Ifs' that I was doing way back when, so some of you may remember it, and some not-- either way, I personally enjoyed this one when I wrote it, and I hope you do too!_

* * *

_Title: 40 Minutes  
Genre: There's a little angst... not too much, some fluff, and basically just a worried Dean.  
Summary: This is a what if for the episode Phantom Traveler; what if Sam had gone on the plane by himself and Dean waited in the airport for the longest forty minutes of his life..._

40 Minutes

'_Why the hell did I let him go by himself?_' Dean's mind screamed at him, '_I should have gone with him!_'

Dean paced back and forth in the large airport terminal. He had admitted to Sam that he was afraid of flying; a move that Dean now regretted because after doing so Sam gave him the ultimatum of either coming along with him to stop the demon, or letting Sam go by himself. At Dean's hesitation Sam declared that he'd do it on his own because he didn't want Dean to be nervous and vulnerable. Dean had so many times between that moment and when Sam got on the plane to stop him, but his fear of flying took all of those opportunities away.

"I swear Sammy, if you make it back ok, I'll let you drive whenever you want," Dean mumbled, "I'll even let you pick out the fricken music!"

His heart beat quickening, Dean looked at his watch. It had been thirty-four minutes, and Dean knew that the plane was going to crash at forty. He also knew that Sam was perfectly capable of performing an exorcism on his own, but what worried Dean the most was the fact that he wasn't there to make sure someone… or something… wasn't going to hurt him while he did so.

Thirty-six minutes.

"Come _on_ Sammy," Dean cussed internally.

What he was waiting for, Dean wasn't sure. He had his phone on him, but the chances of any reception being able to reach him from his brothers phone was slim to none on a good day; never mind when a demon was trying to send the plane and all of the passengers into oblivion. Sam was prepared though; he'd grabbed holy water, an incantation book, duck tape and a number of other things that made it past security; and even things that shouldn't have. Dean glanced at his watch again.

Thirty-eight minutes.

The anxious Winchester was just about to attempt to phone Sam when a sudden commotion could be heard from behind the counter.

Dean struggled to hear bits of the conversation, "…plane is going down… mayday about a minute ago… Captain missing…"

"Sammy," Dean whispered and then bounded over to the counter in one giant step, "Excuse me," no one answered, "_Excuse me!_"

"Yes?" a lady stepped over to him with a forced smile on her face, "How may I help you Sir?"

"I heard what you said," Dean got right to the point, "My brother is on board that plane. What the hell is happening?"

"I assure you that our airlines are perfectly safe. In over one thousand flights out—"

"I don't want to hear your fricken speech lady!" Dean barked, "I want to know what's happening to my brother!"

A number of people looked over, and before Dean could go on any more with his rant a strong hand grabbed his arm. Dean was about to fight off the person that was interrupting him, but as he glanced over and saw a muscular man who was about double his size, the older Winchester thought otherwise.

"Uh, hi," Dean smiled at the official looking 'Security' tag on the man.

"Hi," the man smiled slyly, "Can I help you with something?"

Knowing that the chances of him being put into a holding cell were very high if he started making a fuss about a plane crashing, Dean shook his head feebly.

"Good," the officer nodded in approval, "Now why don't you just go and wait in one of the chairs for your flight. I'll keep an eye on you to make sure nothing bad happens."

"Thanks," Dean forced a smile and followed the security officer to one of the many chairs that were laid about in the waiting area.

Dean glanced over at the counter where even more people were crowded around and someone was talking fast into a phone. He wished he could get close enough to hear what was being said, but the large man standing near was keeping his word on not letting Dean out of his sight. Instead Dean settled for looking at his watch.

Forty-four minutes.

Whatever was going to happen had already happened, and Dean felt a sinking feeling form in the pit of his stomach. His little brother may be dead at that point. The demon may have crashed the plane, and why? Because Dean was too afraid to go with Sam. To afraid to save his only brothers life.

"No!" Dean scolded himself loudly; causing a number of people to look over curiously.

It seemed that only seconds after his outburst a loud eruption of cheers came from behind the counter where the huddled group of people were. Dean got to his feet, but the security officer stopped him from going any further.

"What happened?" Dean asked eagerly, "What the hell happened?"

"Sir, I don't think it is any of your concern about what is going on behind the counters," the security tried to talk calmly.

"Like hell it isn't!" Dean's heart thumped in his chest, "That's my brother on the plane. What happened?"

The security guard, too, was curious, and Dean saw him glance over at the counter where two stewardesses were hugging each other. An official looking man with a white uniform on caught a glance at them and gave the thumbs up.

"It appears," despite himself, the officer wore a smile on his face, "That the plane is no longer in trouble."

Dean pushed past the officer and went to the desk, "Where is it?"

Instead of the lady coming over, it was the official looking man, smiling broadly, "I'm sorry Sir?"

"The plane," Dean's eyes were wide, "Where's the plane now?"

"It is headed back to our terminal," the man explained, "It should be here in about an hour."

"Was anybody hurt?" Dean's voice cracked as he asked the question.

"We're not sure," the man shook his head, "But we're having paramedics brought here just the same."

"Thank you," Dean whispered.

Somehow Dean found his way back to his seat and slumped down into it. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and Dean was startled to find himself having to force tears back. It was the scariest thing Dean could ever remember; the worst forty minutes of his life. Though, Dean admitted to himself, he wasn't even sure why. Sam had gone on numerous hunts on his own. He'd been separated from Dean more times than Dean cared to admit, yet this time was different. Maybe it was because Dean, himself was scared of flying, but he didn't like the thought of Sam being thousands of feet up in the air while he was on the ground.

For the next hour, Dean forced himself to calm down; resting his head limply in his hands. He figured, quickly, that he must have dosed off, as it seemed like only minutes before he heard the announcement that the plane was coming into the terminal. With a start Dean stood up and looked around. Numerous people were anxiously waiting for the passengers to get off while at least a dozen paramedics stood around waiting to look at them.

"Come on Sammy," Dean breathed as he saw the stream of people walk into the terminal; numerous loved ones running up to them.

"Is anyone hurt?" a paramedic asked one of the passengers that walked out.

"Yeah, there's three people that are hurt kind of badly," the man answered.

"No…" Dean whispered, still staring wide-eyed as the people came out.

Why the hell were there so many people now? There wasn't this many people getting on the plane! Finally, just as Dean was about to really start to panic, he saw Sam walking out of the terminal; helping what looked like the Captain. A large smile came to Dean's face as Sam handed off the injured man to a paramedic and started to look around.

"Sam!" Dean called, "Over here!"

Sam looked over and smiled as he walked up to Dean. Unbelievable relief swept over Dean at the sight of his uninjured brother, that he almost found himself grabbing him in a hug. Instead he settled for placing his hands on Sam's shoulders and looking intently at his face.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was gruff, "You ok?"

Sam took a deep breath, "Yeah, I'm alright."

Dean moved his hands away from Sam's shoulders, and they began to walk away from the crowd, "You sure?"

"I'm fine Dean," Sam paused and looked at his older brother, "How about you? You look like crap."

Dean laughed, "Thanks," he paused, "I was just…"

"Worried about me?" Sam raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Not only does Dean Winchester succumb to his fear of flying, but he also worries about College Boy?"

Dean stared at him a moment before laughing and turning away, "Shut-up."

"Ah, but why stop?" Sam spoke loudly and mockingly now, "Not only have I found your kryptonite, but also you're Achilles' heel."

"Dude, I said shut-up," Dean laughed as they neared the doors.

Sam stopped and smiled at Dean; one of the best sights Dean had seen in a long time. Next time, Dean swore, he wouldn't let his fears get in the way of anything. Especially his little brother.

"Here," Dean spoke up and fished in his pocket for something.

"What?" Sam asked; confusion on his face.

Dean grinned and tossed his keys at Sam, "You drive College Boy."

The End


	14. Sammy

_Disclaimer: My Mum says no... and supposidly she's always right... _

_A/N: I wanted to post a different one shot today, but it's not quite right yet. So I've decided to pull out another what if that I'd written some time ago. Haha, you guys seemed to like the last one that I wrote. Thanks for all the reviews people, and I'm glad you're enjoying this!  
(just an added note; i just read this one over... and i still love the ending of it. haha... is that a bad thing?) _

* * *

_Title: Sammy  
Genre: In a way it's angst. In a way not-- it's hard to tell...  
Summary: A nice what if story about if John was able to save Mary, and not Sam..._

Sammy

"Hi," John forced on a smile and sat beside Mary in the rocking swing which had been attached to the porch five years earlier.

"Oh," Mary was clearly lost in thoughts moments before and forced on her own smile now, "Hi John. How's it going?"

"Good," John placed a loving hand on Mary's shoulder, "Supper should be done in about an hour."

"Good."

"Mary…" John paused as Mary placed her head down; concealing her face, "Mary, are you alright?"

Mary looked directly at him now, tears swimming in her eyes, "He'd be twenty-two today, you know that?"

John himself looked down at his stocking feet. Of course he knew that. How could he forget? Little Sammy would be twenty-two that day. Twenty-two! The young child was stolen from them in a storm of fire when he was only six months old. John had tried; God knows he tried. But all he could do was grab Mary; pinned to the ceiling in such a gruesome way before the crib which John's youngest boy was crying from burst into flames. Then the cries stopped. There wasn't a day that passed that John wondered what would have happened if only he had grabbed Sammy first. If only he had made sure he was safe and then gone for Mary. But that was near twenty-two years earlier, and the aging Winchester knew there was nothing he could do about it now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John finally spoke up; his voice quivering slightly.

Mary leaned into her husband comfortably, "I bet he'd hate the name Sammy by now," a small chuckle escaped her, "And I bet that would make Dean call him it all the more."

"What's wrong with Sammy?" John questioned.

"Oh come on John," Mary smiled, "You remember how much you hated people calling you Johnny. Sammy would be twenty-two now; not a little boy anymore."

John thought about this, "You're right. I bet Dean would call him that."

"He'd be a big brother," Mary's voice suddenly softened.

"He still is," John insisted, "Just because his little brother was only around for six months doesn't mean that he stopped being a big brother."

"True," Mary pushed herself gently in the swing, "I wish Dean had a little brother to protect though. He was so angry in school all the time. It was all we could do to get him to graduate high school," she paused, "Do you think Sammy would have done well?"

"Of course," John gave a light laugh, "One of them was bound to. Sammy would have got great grades, went to college, became a lawyer and married his girl."

Mary joined in his laugh, "And lived in a white picket fence with two point five kids?"

"The American life," John agreed, "Completely normal."

"I bet you're right," Mary spoke, "Even… even for the small amount of time he was with us, I could tell he was a textbook baby. Always slept when he was supposed to, always had his feedings four hours apart. He was perfect."

John's insides squirmed. Every year he felt the same way. And every year he apologized.

"Mary…"

"John, it wasn't your fault," Mary shook her head dismissively, "I've told you that many times. It's fate. Things could have been much worse that night. The fire could have got Dean as well. Or you."

"Or you," John's voice was soft.

"Or me," Mary agreed, "We have two sons John. One of them just… went before us. Dean is still here, and he's been a handful enough growing up."

"I remember..." John said, "I can still recall when he was eight, and first asked about Sammy. Do you?"

"Yeah," Mary nodded, watching some blue-jays play in the birdbath, "He asked where Sammy was. I asked him what he remembered, and all he said was that there was lots of fire, and that it was hot. We tried to explain to him that Sammy wasn't going to be coming back, and I think he cried for over an hour."

"He felt better though…" John remembered, "Later."

Nearly a minute passed in silence before Mary spoke again.

"I miss him John."

"I know Mary, I know," John comforted, and rubbed Mary's shoulder, "But it's ok now. He's not hurting."

Again, a long pause came before Mary broke the silence, "Jackie Johnson is going to be coming over tomorrow afternoon. She said she'd show me how to prune the flowers so they'll bloom better."

"That's great," John knew that Mary was done talking about Sammy, and knew better than to bring him up again, "I can talk to Rob about helping me fix up the steps on this porch. I can't tell you how many times I've ripped open one of my socks on the splintered wood."

Mary sat up more and chuckled, "That's why I got you those slippers for Christmas silly. Wear them and you won't ruin your socks. Our pay checks barely bring in enough money to cover your little 'fixing projects', never mind a new package of socks every two weeks."

John smiled, "Yes Dear," he looked at his watch, "I should go check on supper."

As he got up Mary too looked at her watch, "It's nearly five. Did Dean say if he was going to make it for dinner today?"

John stopped by the door and looked at Mary, "He said he'd be here around six. He's meeting someone named Meg at the bar downtown. She said she knows something about the Demon."

The End


	15. Angst

_Disclaimer: ok, making up a new one of these each day is harder than writing the fricken one shots... NO!_

_A/N: Hey loyal readers. Sorry, again, today is late-- no particular reason other than trying to get the end of this one shot right. It was a request one for a somewhat different ending to where Sam got the demon expelled from him in 'Born Under a Bad Sign'. Basically a lot more hurt Sam and worried Dean. So I began working on it, and was going to end it with the line of 'Dean you look like crap'-- or something like that. But then I realized that a lot happened from the time that they were laying on the floor to that point sitting. I wanted to do the angst and all that, but didn't feel like filling in a lot of dialog, so I ended this at a different point. I hope it's still ok, and I honored the request well! (i also had tons of fun writing bobby!)  
A little note on the last one shot. Haha, some of you didn't enjoy it too much, and I totally get why. I was trying to let you know in a very subtle way that the Winchester family is still hunting (like at the end, Dean was going to Meg), and that Dean was a wild child. I guess I didn't do that great of a job. Haha, but thanks for the reviews for it anyways, and I hope this one shot is a little better... _

* * *

_Title: Angst  
Genre: Hahaha-- the title kindda says what this is about...  
Summary: Alright, dispite the cruddy name of the one shot (haha, sorry Windy Fontaine... I was going to change it, but decided to stick with the stupidity), this story is pretty good. Basically it's my little take on what would happen if instead of Sam just immediately waking up... he stayed down for the count._

Angst

"_Ahh!_" Dean watched from his vantage point as Sam arched in the air; the demon escaping through his mouth and disappearing through the fire place.

Sam fell to the ground hard; Bobby standing stunned at the turn of events; the hot iron still in his hand. For a moment Dean watched, fearing what would happen next. But Sam didn't move.

"Sammy?" the older brothers voice was hoarse as he slid closer, "Sammy!"

"Hey Sam," Bobby crouched down, "Sam, are you with us?"

"Bobby?" Dean looked pleadingly at the family friend, "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Bobby admitted placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, "But we don't know for sure what that demon did to Sam's body. You remember Meg--"

"No," Dean shook his head, moving frantically over to Sam; his body screaming in pain, "No way, not Sammy," Dean placed a hand on Sam's neck, "There's a pulse."

"Dean, that doesn't mean--" Bobby started.

"_No!_" Dean barked out again, "Go get some water, and-and a cloth or something Bobby. Go!"

Silently Bobby nodded and took off for the other room. Dean shifted Sam into a more comfortable position, and placed his hand on the side of his face. A purple welt was beginning to show from where Dean, himself, had smacked his demon possessed brother. He'd do anything to go back in time and not have touched him. What if it was Dean that pushed his brother over the line? What if was because he couldn't keep his temper that Sam Winchester died.

"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean whispered stroking a piece of stray hair from the young man's face, "I'm sorry I couldn't stop you from getting hurt."

"Tell him when he's awake," Bobby interrupted, "Here, wipe his face off with this."

Bobby handed Dean a small bottle and a cloth.

"What is it?" Dean questioned.

"It's holy water," Bobby explained, "If there's any traces of that son of a bitch in him, it'll get rid of it. If there isn't, the water might help him."

Dean soaked the cloth in the liquid and began to wipe down his brother's face. Sam remained motionless to the efforts.

"Here," Bobby spoke up after a moment and handed Dean an icepack, "Put this on your face. That sucker punch was a good one."

"But Sam--" Dean started to protest.

"He's not going anywhere," Bobby pointed out, "He's breathing and has a steady heart-beat. But he was also possessed for a good week, and added to whatever else that demon did, it had to of taken a toll on his body."

"Is he going to be ok?" Dean asked, looking down at his pale faced brother while holding the icepack to his own tender face.

Bobby thought about this. He'd known John Winchester for nearly twenty years-- they'd met at a diner late one night and discussed the local legends. One thing lead to another and soon Bobby Singer was a valued friend and hunter. It was never his way to sideline the truth or beat around the bush, and as he looked down at his dear departed friend's son, he wasn't sure how badly the demon hurt him.

"I'm not sure," Bobby finally admitted, "If he doesn't pull around soon, we'll take him to a friend of mines; Pack."

"Who's Pack?"

"A doctor," Bobby explained, taking over Dean's previous job of soaking the youngest Winchester's face with cool water, "One that specialized in these types of cases. No questions asked."

Dean nodded silently, and prayed that it wouldn't come to that. Silence enveloped the three for what seemed like hours, but which was not even five minutes.

"Bobby, he's not waking up," Dean whispered out; fear lacing his voice.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded in acknowledgement, "I'll go call Pack."

Dean nodded and looked his brother in the face, "Come on Sammy, don't do this. Not after everything that bitch did to you, don't do this."

For the first time since the youngest brother collapsed to the floor, he started to show signs of consciousness as Sam shifted slightly, and a low mumble escaped his lips.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted, "Bobby, he's waking up!"

The process of coming to a conscious state happened rapidly as a few seconds after the inaudible mumble Sam gasped awake and Bobby was standing, eyes wide in the entrance of the room.

"Sammy--" Dean reached a hand out.

"Dean, wait, wait!" Bobby commanded, "Just wait."

"Wha- why?" Dean stuttered, looking at the fear filled and confused eyes of his baby brother.

"We have to be sure," Bobby stated, looking at Sam and said in a clear voice, "Christo."

"Bobby?" Sam's voice cracked, "What's going on?"

"Sam," Dean placed a hand on Sam's leg, "Hey, are you ok?"

Sam was breathing hard as he looked at Dean; it took a moment to register what was happening, "Dean?"

Dean forced a smile on his swollen face, "Yeah, it's me."

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked, "That Meg gave you quite a run for your money."

Sam nodded, "I'm ok I think."

"Good," Dean groaned as he got to his feet, "I wasn't quite ready to hand you over to some random named Pack."

Sam scrunched up his face to show his confusion and Bobby let out a low laugh.

"Come on Sammy," Dean reached his hand down, and slowly helped Sam to his feet, "Easy, easy…"

Once his little brother was to his feet, Dean grinned and clapped his shoulder affectionately with his good arm. It scared him every time his brothers life was in danger, this time being no different as the elder brother knew it would be some time before his heart rate went back to normal and the trembling he felt inside to go away.

"What happened to you Dean?!" Sam suddenly cried out, spotting the blood that had seeped through Dean's jacket, and the massive bruising that was starting to show on his face.

"Oh," Dean smirked, "Meg decided to beat the crap out of me using your muscles. You got quite a swing there Sammy."

Sam frowned, "Meg?"

"I think you two should sit down before you fall down," Bobby interjected as he watched the two hunters stand on less than sturdy legs.

"Yeah, come on Sam," Dean grabbed Sam from under the armpit to help him towards a chair.

"Dean--" Sam started as he followed his brother's lead.

"Shut up Sammy," Dean spoke softly, "You did nothing wrong."

Sam spoke his next words in a whisper he wasn't even sure his big brother heard, "Thank you Dean."

The End


	16. In The Blaze

_Disclaimer: Seriously... I'm going to stop saying no soon and nobody will even notice..._

_A/N: Alright, much to the differ of yesterday's, I'm posting this one shot early. Mainly because I'm going back to my parent's today and so I'm going to be SUPER busy the whole day, and then (hurrah!!) the new episode is on tonight... so instead of trying to fit a time in when I can do this, I'm posting it now-- early in the morning. So... today's one shot is, again, a what if that I'd wrote. Don't worry, it's the last one I have of the sorts. And since I'll be away from my computer and at my parents, all one shots that will be posted are going to be spur of the moment never seen before, ones.  
So along with this one shot, I really want to ask a favour for everyone that is reading these one shots. I was wondering which one, so far, is your favorite. Review wise, people like Funkytown best, but I want your opinion. Just stick it in a review (even if that's all you put). Thanks so much! Now enjoy...  
**ok... just a quick note... i'm running late right now-- haha, bus' don't wait for people... so i'm posting this story without reading through and proff reading it again. so i sincerely apologize for all mistakes!! thank you! **_

* * *

_Title: In The Blaze  
Genre: Angst... not that I do much else...  
Summary: A dear old what if... What if in 'Salvation' at the end, Dean wasn't able to stop Sam from running into the house to try and get the demon..._

In the Blaze

"He's still in there!" Sam shouted out; spotting the dark figure lurking in the window of the upstairs nursery.

"Sam, no!" Dean cried out as his brother rushed past him to the door.

For a brief moment Dean felt the tip of his fingers come in contact with Sam's shirt. For just a moment he thought he'd be able to stop him. That moment passed though, and next thing Dean knew Sam was charging at the house.

"_Sam!_" Dean screamed making a break for him.

"No!" Dean was vaguely aware of the shouts of fear from the family they'd just saved as they watched the Winchesters head towards their house that was almost completely engulfed in flames.

But there was more important things on Dean's mind as just as Sam walked through the door, a loud burst of fire shot out through it; causing a large part of the structure to securely block the front door from Dean going in. Or Sam coming out.

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed; a large, cold feeling filling the pit of his stomach, "_Sammy!!_"

Suddenly Dean found himself frozen; unable to move or even think of a way to save his precious little brother. His mind screamed at him to find a way in; to save Sam. But his body refused to work. Instead it replayed the memories from over twenty years ago. Sam had almost been killed in a fire then; and now it was going to happen again.

"Sam…" Dean's feeble whisper came out as he stared with tear-filled eyes at the house; flames shooting out of the windows…

If Sam had been even an inch closer to the door, he knew that he would have surely been killed as the fiery wall collapsed in. Fear raced through him for Dean's safety, though when he heard his name being called out, relief washed through him.

"He's here," the memory of the demon standing in the window flashed back into Sam's head and he covered his mouth with the edge of his sleeve; working his way to the stairs.

Fire licked around Sam as he worked his way up the stairs as quickly as possible; the colt still clutched in his left hand. The noise was unbelievable and the young Winchester could feel the hairs being burnt on his exposed skin. But he didn't care. Sam was going to kill it; he was finally going to get the thing that had tormented their families life.

The demon.

A loud, gagging cough escaped Sam's mouth as he finally reached the top of the stairs. The smoke stopped him from seeing much, though the bright orange light that flooded out of the farthest room indicated where it was he had to go. He quickly gave up on holding his shirt over his face as dizzy washed over him, and he was forced to use the wall to support his stumbling body.

"I'm going to kill you, you bastard," Sam gagged as he got closer and closer to the room; vaguely aware of more cries and screams of his name outside.

Finally he made it, and, his face burning from the fire, he looked in the room. There, standing idly in the centre of the fire, was the demon. His world spun as sounds and visions combined, but Sam cocked the gun and pointed it at the demon; his body slumping limply against the doorframe as the fire inched closer and closer.

Yellow eyes shimmered behind the darkened face, "It starts where it begins."

"I'm going… to… kill you…" Sam gasped between strangled breaths.

A low, hissing laugh entered Sam's ears as the demon spoke one last time before it disappeared into the smoky abyss, "Not this time Sammy."

Sam collapsed to the ground just as he heard someone come up behind him…

Dean's heart lurched into his throat as he saw Sam fall to the ground; the flames licking dangerously at his little brothers body.

"Sammy!" Dean cried rushing over, "_Sam!_"

Moving quicker than Dean thought possible, he pulled his brother up over his shoulder fireman style. His head spun as he burst through a wall of fire which had erupted part way down the hallway; burning the hair on his face. The distant sound of sirens entered Dean's head, and a horrible vision of the firemen finding him and Sam dead in the house flashed at him. Dean gripped the unconscious Sam even tighter as he headed further down the hall.

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean reassured; more for himself, "I'll get you out of here."

The smoke was thick and the fire was hot as Dean crashed down the stairs. The second stair to the bottom, however, was damaged too badly as Dean felt his foot smash through it; sending sharp pain radiating up his leg. A loud yelp escaped Dean's mouth, but he didn't care.

'_Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back. Now Dean; go!_'

His Dad's words from so long ago echoed through Dean's mind, and a cold feeling formed in the pit of his stomach as the realization of how painstakingly familiar the situation was. Slowly, with more determination than ever, Dean worked his way to the back door.

"Almost there," Dean choked on his own words.

Finally they burst through the door and out into the cool night. His head spun as firemen rushed over. Dean had just placed Sam down on the grass when a fireman grabbed his arm and pulled him away; not even giving the older brother a chance to see if Sam was alive.

"No!" Dean cried struggling against the man's strong grip, "Sammy!"

"One of the other men has him," the fireman dragging Dean away as he spoke, "I have to get you away from here."

"_No!_" Dean tried harder to get to his little brother, "He's my brother! I have to be with him! I have to know if he's ok!"

"They have him," the man pulled Dean further away and Dean struggled to see behind him where two firemen were moving Sam.

Only then did Dean notice that the man had dragged him to the front of the house. He looked around and saw nearly two dozen people standing around staring at what was happening. Two large fire trucks were pulled partway into the yard, shooting large streams of water at the almost completely engulfed house. An ambulance was parked at the side of the road and Dean's heart lurched; that's where they were bringing Sammy!

"I have to go," Dean tried to speak more calmly to the man that was still standing beside him, "That's my brother that they took. I have to go make sure that he's alright."

The fireman took a glance over at the ambulance then at Dean, "Alright son, you can go."

Dean barely had time to mutter 'thanks' to the man before bolting into a run towards the ambulance. The two large doors were opened at the back and Dean could see two paramedics sitting inside it talking to someone. Dean couldn't get there fast enough, but when he did, he was almost afraid to look in.

"Sam," Dean whispered barely loud enough for himself to hear as he peaked inside.

Dean let out a breath he never even realized he was holding and a large smile came to his dirty face. Sam was sitting up, fully awake, on a gurney with an oxygen mask covering his face.

"Sammy," tears danced in Dean's voice.

Sam pulled back the mask, "Hey Dean."

His little brothers voice broke from the effects of the smoke, but as Dean scanned him up and down he was relieved to see that there didn't appear to be anything seriously wrong.

"Hey Sammy…" Dean was startled to hear his own voice break; though not from the smoke, "You ok?"

The latest comment was more directed towards the paramedics, and Dean waited anxiously for an answer.

"He'll be alright," the one on the right spoke, "He inhaled a lot of smoke, which could effect his breathing for up to a week. He's got some bad second degree burns on his right arm and part of the right side oh his face, and first degree burns on much of the rest of him. But nothing too alarming. We'll just keep him here for around twenty minutes with the oxygen on, and then he should be alright to go home."

"Thank you," Dean smiled, and the two paramedics left the brothers alone.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, with the mask still off his face.

"Keep that thing on Sammy," Dean spoke firmly, "And yeah, I'm alright. You scared the fricken crap out of me."

"I saw him," though Sam had the oxygen mask on, Dean could still understand him, "But he left."

"We'll find him Sammy," Dean assured, placing a comforting hand on Sam's leg, "But burning to the ground isn't the way to do it, Dude."

Sam stared at Dean a moment and Dean was sure he saw tears in his eyes.

"Sorry," Sam's muffled voice came out.

Dean ran his hand through his spiked hair, "Listen to me little brother. Right now Dad is off with that bitch, and the last thing that I wanted to do was tell him that his son had died in a macho attempt to kill this demon. We _will_ find this thing and kill it, but until then we have to stay together. I'm not going to bury you or Dad, or anyone else, so next time you decide to play your little game, let me know so I can lock you in the trunk."

Sam smiled, and spoke the words from his heart, "Thank you Dean."

The End


	17. The Search of the Titles

_Disclaimer: Umm... sure, why not? -- I've never been sued before._

_A/N: Off hiatus! Whoot! Ok, you know you're happy. Sorry it took me so long to start these suckers back up, but I was finishing school, and then went back home, and then didn't have the internet in my room. Now, obviously I do! Yay! So I now have a backlog of about ten or so one shots, so I'm set up for a while. This first one I'm posting is **the** stupidest one shot in the world. Haha, but it's great. Ok, so there is basically no plot line-- well, there is, but it's so dumb. The whole point of this one shot is that every single episode from both season one and two are stuck into it. So it'll mainly just be fun to read to try and see if you can find all of the episode titles. A small warning though-- the humour in this thing is rediculous-- I was just having fun trying to stick the titles in, so kindda lost track of the plot and any type of sense. Haha-- enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: The Search of the Titles  
Genre: Humour... horrible, horrible humour.  
Summary: Uhh... this thing has a summary? Ok... so it's basically about some killer clowns that are killing kids... I think._

The Search of the Titles

"No way dude," Dean shook his head furiously, "No!"

Sam, on the other hand, laughed, "Come on Dean, everybody loves a clown."

"Except you!" Dean shot back.

"Ok, everyone but _me_," Sam rolled his eyes, "And it's not like I'm asking you to kiss the thing."

"No, just hug it," Dean frowned, "Sammy, they're going to send me to an asylum if I randomly walk around a kids fun park hugging every single fricken thing dressed as a clown."

"It's either that, or shoot every single thing dressed as a clown," Sam paused, "Which really wouldn't be that bad…"

"Sam…" Dean spoke flatly, "Be serious."

Sam shot out a grin, "I am."

"Alright," Dean struggled to get things back on track, "these… _things_… dress up as clowns and kill people. This sounds familiar."

"Naw, totally different," Sam waved his hand, "When we hunted that other thing, it was at a circus. This is a 'Children's Play Park'."

"God I hate you," Dean rubbed his hand over his face, "So anyways, they have a heart in their back that you can feel when you hug them, and we have to, what-- kill the bitches by ripping it out?"

"Kind of," Sam looked down at the laptop in front of him, "Basically these _things_, as you so eloquently called them, are already dead. They feed off of children for the youthfulness, and in order to get rid of them, they have to be shot in the back… where the heart is."

"Of course they do," Dean nodded, "What else? I mean-- let's make a show out of it… call all the little kiddies in, and shoot a clown in front of them."

Sam forced a straight face, "We could… say there's a gas leak or something. Get everyone to go home."

"I have a better idea," Dean's eyes sparkled, "Lets get a huge scarecrow and stick it in the middle of the place. Watch them all run."

"Alright Dean, I get it-- this is going to be a little bit of a problem," Sam closed the computer, "But… it's a clown. Most kids…" Sam internally shivered, "Like to play with them."

"Yeah, well, children shouldn't play with dead things," Dean muttered.

"They're _usually_ not dead."

"It's what is, and what should never be. Odds are against us on that one Sammy," Dean pointed out, "We've ran across two of these things, and both of them have been in the 'dead and evil' category. I'm starting to understand why you're so freaked out about them."

Sam looked at Dean a moment and spoke slowly, "_Flying_."

"_Smart ass_," Dean spoke in the same emphasized tone, "And besides which, a pilot can be possessed, remember?"

"So what are we going to do?" Sam finally asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Dean thought about it, and took a deep breath, "I bet a Wendigo is looking pretty good right about now huh?"

"Yeah, but you're out of M&Ms, so we'd be screwed," Sam grinned, "Come on-- lets just head down to the place. We'll figure it out from there."

The sun shone bright outside the hotel that they were staying in which made the black Impala look all the more dirty.

"God Dean, what the hell did you do to your car?" Sam slowly rounded the front of it, "It looks like you hit every roadkill there was on the highway."

"I was saving them," Dean grinned, "Teaching the rest of the animals not to run into the road."

"Dean, you're the cause of the need for salvation in the animal kingdom," Sam kicked at a chunk of dirt sticking out the end of the bumper.

"Hey at least a furry little rabbit's blood is better than a dead man's blood," Dean shrugged and got in the car, "Come on Sammy, before you're next."

Sam frowned at Dean's lack of compassion and got in the car with a defiant huff. Dean took a glance at his brother has he pulled out onto the road, '_Folsom Prison Blues_' playing dimly on the radio as he headed towards where the killer clowns awaited. Silence enveloped the car, and Dean quickly realized Sam wasn't going to be the one to start a conversation.

"Look Sammy," Dean smirked, "There's dead bugs on the windshield… still think I'm something wicked?"

"Among other things," Sam quipped before yelling out, "_Dean_! Pay attention."

Dean glanced in the mirror at the dog which narrowly missed the car, "Oh, come on Sam-- have _some_ faith in me."

Sam wordlessly glanced up at a road sign that read 'Route 666'.

"Ok, that's just mean," Dean frowned

Five minutes later, the less than subtle car pulled into a busy parking lot outside a large stadium-like arena. A tent nearly half the size of the building sat beside it, and there seemed to be hundreds of children and reluctant parents wandering about the grounds.

"Where the hell did all the kids come from?" Dean groaned getting out of the car and heading towards the trunk.

"You see Dean, when a Mommy and a Daddy love each other--" Sam started, following his brother's movement to the back.

"Two seconds Sammy," Dean pulled out a small silver-bulleted pistol out of the trunk, "and I'm going to shove this thing in a place your worst nightmare couldn't even imagine."

"Dean, I dream of people getting burned alive," Sam hissed out in a quiet whisper as he pulled out the other pistol.

Dean spared a look at him, "I know."

"You know, compared to you, sometimes, the Benders seemed kind of tame," Sam commented as Dean grabbed the EMF meter, and they headed down the sidewalk towards the large building and tent.

"What are you talking about?" Dean cried out, spinning to face his little brother, "I don't make people into my little playthings."

Sam smiled and clapped Dean on the shoulder affectionately. By the time the brother's made it to the entrance they'd already spotted three clowns.

"Great," Dean muttered, "If I go around hugging all these things people are going to think I'm even more gay than they already do."

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a gag came out of Sam's mouth, and he bit back a retort that Dean would have smacked him for. Instead the younger brother remained silent and looked around.

"All hell breaks loose part one… me shooting all the clowns," Dean muttered.

"All hell breaks loose part two is you going around hugging all the dead clowns," Sam tried not to laugh.

"Funny Sammy, but you're the one who's going to have to go to therapy for the next twenty years from this," Dean said.

Sam glared at Dean quickly before looking around some more.

"God, this place is like a hell house," Sam whispered as a clown with bright red hair and an erratically animated mouth walked by.

"This is awesome," Dean glanced around, "Sam, there's got to be at least two dozen of these things around here. How the hell do we figure out which one it is?"

Sam had no answer as he stared at his childhood fear walk everywhere around him. The sun beat down hot, and through his dark, long sleeve shirt, Sam could feel sweat clinging to his skin.

"Excuse me," Sam turned his head to the voice beside him.

"_Ahh_!" a loud yelp of fear came out of Sam's mouth as he jumped and turned away.

Jagged breaths came out of Sam's mouth as he stared at the clown which had just spoken. It's hair was an almost neon color, sticking out in every direction. White make-up covered it's entire face, with blue diamonds painted over his eyes and a large purple mouth that ran almost directly to the ears. A foam yellow nose topped it off, and Sam forced himself to swallow and take another stumbling step backwards.

"Sorry," Dean's voice squeaked out to the confused clown, "He--" Dean cleared his throat as he placed his hand as inconspicuously as possible over his mouth to stop the laughter from escaping, "He… has problems…"

The clown gave Dean a sympathetic smile before walking off, leaving the older brother free to burst out laughing.

"Shut up," Sam breathed, anger laced in his voice.

"I don't think it was that guy," Dean choked out, "But I can go back and hug him if you want."

Sam was about to retort again when a loud scream echoed out from inside the tented area, and numerous people began to run out frantically.

"I've got a wild guess as to where our guy is," Sam forced the situation serious as he checked the rim of his pants to be sure the gun was still in place.

The two brothers ran against the crowd of people, and Sam groaned when, again, he saw three clowns standing around a circle of people; a little girl laying down in the center.

Dean sighed, "The usual suspects."

"Which one?" Sam hissed out as people began to call out for someone to call an ambulance.

"I'm guessing the one that sent the girl to the ground," Dean frowned.

"No kidding," Sam rolled his eyes, looking, regrettably, at the clowns.

It was the third one that caught his attention.

"Dean," Sam elbowed his brother, "Dean… check out the one with the pink suit."

Dean looked over, and saw, just as the other two, the clown staring down apprehensively at the girl, "Yeah, so?"

"Look at his shadow," Sam kept his voice low.

Dean looked, "There is none."

"Exactly," Sam pointed at the other two clowns who's bodies shot out long, exaggerated shadows across the grass.

"Great," Dean swallowed, "Well I sure as hell am not going to cap him one here. We gotta clear it out."

"Alright," Sam nodded and looked at the crowd of people, "Alright, can I get through please? I know first aid."

The crowd parted, and Sam walked over to the little girl who only looked to be around ten. A boy who seemed to be the same age was crouched down next to her.

"Hey," Sam forced his best calming voice, "Mind if I take a look at her?"

"No," the boy took the girls hand in his, "No-- Simon said to stay here, and not to leave her side. He said that he was going to get help."

"Do you always listen to what Simon says?" Dean questioned.

The boy nodded his head indignantly, "Yes. Simon is always right."

"See Sam, he knows how to play the game," Dean shot a sideways grin at his brother.

"_Dean_!" Sam cried out, "Come on. We need to help her, and clear the people away from here."

"She already got sick today," the boy had tears coming down his face, "she got sick outside and then-- something got her. And now…" a hiccoughed sob came from the boys mouth, "and now she's all bloody… Mary… she's all bloody from the bad thing."

"Gezz Sam, and you thought you were born under a bad sign," Dean spoke under his breath.

"I am with you as a brother," Sam shot back before turning his attention back to the boy, "Alright, listen. Mary is going to be just fine. Dean here-- my brother-- will help bring her out in the light and get a better look."

A sudden serious look came to Dean's face, "Sammy no. I'm not leaving you in here."

"I'll be fine Dean," Sam insisted, and then saw the reluctant look on the boys face, "Don't worry, Dean's not a hookman, and doesn't bite hard. Everything will be ok."

The boy frowned as Dean ushered away the other people, "Hookman?"

Sam waved his hand, "Nothing-- just a bunch of tall tales. Ask Simon, I'm sure he'll tell you about them."

By that time Dean returned, and gave a look at Sam, "Be careful. I'll be back."

Sam nodded and turned around to see only the shadow-less clown standing there, a mocking smile on his make-up face.

"Have you heard of the legend Croatoan?" the clown asked calmly.

Sam paused, "Have you heard of make-up remover?"

"The settlers that disappeared."

"I wouldn't let Dean hear about this," Sam breathed deep, trying to digest the thing in front of him as a demon rather than a clown, "he gets pretty pissed when that whole episode is brought up."

"It was us, you know," the clown continued, "We're the reasons those settlers never made it to their destiny. We _became_ their destiny."

Somehow the image of a bunch of brightly coloured clowns going after settlers in 1590 lessened the threat of the thing standing in front of him, and taking a glance around, Sam took out his gun. The clown spotted the gun and eyed his surroundings apprehensively.

"There's no exit buddy," Sam pointed the gun at the things head, "This ends here."

"If you stop me Sam Winchester, more will come," the clown's voice had dropped dramatically, "You can't stop this with me."

"Stopping you," a sly smile that usually only cursed the elder brother's lips came across Sam as he spoke, "This is only the beginning of the devil's trap. Trust me on that one."

"Not even the houses of the holy can stop us," the clown took a step closer to Sam, "We're everywhere-- it doesn't stop with me. It doesn't stop with saving that girl."

"It stops when you shut the _hell_ up," Dean suddenly spoke up from behind the clown, pointing his gun to where the thing's heart was, "seriously man-- if you guys did less talking you'd kill a bunch more people."

"God, I forgot about you," the clown groaned, "I've been told about you Dean-- always there… always coming back like some phantom traveller bent on being everywhere all the time."

"Night shifter," Dean grinned, "It sounds cooler."

Without skipping a beat Dean pulled the trigger to the silver pistol, and the colourful clown dropped to the ground face first. A thick pool of green blood oozed down the thing's back, and began to gather on the grass.

"Think some bloodlust vampire would want that?" Dean mused watching the revolting liquid flow out.

"I don't know, why don't you go find one and ask," Sam frowned.

"I don't know--" Dean shook his head as he joined his brother in the slow walk out of the tent, "But if I'm ever in _my_ time of dying and start talking about _stupid_ things like that, punch me," Dean shot one last look at the green blooded clown, "Please."

"How about when you're alive?" Sam questioned, retracing their steps back down the sidewalk; Sam intentionally avoiding the sight of any other clowns in the area.

"How about you find yourself dead in the water," Dean shot back, "Shouldn't be too hard-- just look up while you're taking a shower."

By that time the Winchester's found themselves standing outside the Impala, Dean by the drivers side door, and Sam by the passenger side.

"You know one of these times, one of us is going to get creamed when we have one of our 'over-the-car' chats," Sam noted, watching as a car speed by mere inches from Dean.

"Well if it's me, you gotta go live the life," Dean spoke sincerely, "You deserve it."

Sam smiled back just as serenely, "I am living the life Dean. I'm on a road trip with my big brother. Beating the crossroad blues as we help people and--" Sam glanced back towards the tent, "… and killing clowns. It can't get much better."

"Sure it can Sammy," Dean shook his head, "Hollywood Babylon dude!-- Go to LA and see if you can out-slut Paris Hilton."

Sam laughed and opened up the door, "Lets go Dean."

Dean smiled, got into the car, started it up, and pulled out onto the road. They passed three cops and one ambulance on the way, but soon the hectic town made way to a peaceful country road.

"You ok?" Dean looked at his silent brother.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "We did pretty good."

"I'd say so," Dean nodded, "But you look like we missed something."

"We did," Sam looked deep in thought.

Dean drove for nearly thirty seconds before shaking his head, "Ok, I can't think of it. I mean, dude-- we did everything."

"Except one," Sam smiled.

Dean looked at Sam expectantly, "Alright man, I'm not playing twenty questions for a one-word answer."

Sam laughed, "We didn't get provenance."

Dean scrunched up his face as he drove, "Providence?"

The End.


	18. Fire Bugs

_Disclaimer: Never in my life have I wanted to say yes... but... alas... no..._

_A/N: Well, yesterday's one shot got pretty much the response that I expected. Haha-- I warned you there was no plot! The best review though, and I kudos... was from 'Ciya', who worded the thing perfect; 'OMG that was so freakin' bad but I loved it!'. Haha-- that made me laugh. Todays one shot, thankfully, does have a plot, so you can sink in and enjoy it!_

* * *

_Title: Fire Bugs  
Genre: A little angst... not much; a lot of fluff and nice stuff. Haha...  
Summary: Sam is sick, and Dean is trying to take care of him. Pretty simple plot, but in the end we all know it will make you smile!_

Fire Bugs

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean grunted, pulling at his brother, "You gotta get up dude."

Sam's head lulled to the side, his eyes rolling lazily into the back of his head. Dean frowned, and tried to hide his worry as he pulled Sam up into a sitting position.

"_Sam!_" Dean's sudden voice shook Sam into momentary consciousness, "Don't even think about going back to sleep. You have to get up."

"Fire bugs," Sam slurred out.

A ghost of a smile came to Dean's face. The whole thing would have been hilarious to the older man if Sam wasn't running a fever of 103.4 and hadn't just got sick all over the bed for the second time in an hour.

"Sam, you got sick in the bed again," Dean tried to explain, "I have to clean it up, and then I promise you can go back to sleep."

"Fire…"

"--bugs, I know," Dean sighed, "And someday you're going to explain that to me, but for now, just--" Dean heaved Sam onto wobbly legs, "Time to get up."

Sam's cheeks were pink, and he stood staring around the hotel room. It was three in the morning, and the only light which shone was that from a small end table light in-between the beds. The room swam in front of Sam's eyes, and it was an impossible task to focus on any one thing.

"Think you can stand for a second Sammy?" Dean questioned.

Sam remained silent, and Dean let go of his little brother to make a dash to the bathroom. The previous twenty-four hours had given way to a pattern that Dean was quickly catching on to. Sam, at first, was getting sick nearly every fifteen minutes, and then would be conscious and almost lucid for around five minutes before collapsing back into a stupor. Much to the relief of Dean, the sickness was loosing its grip, and with the constant pill pushing that he was doing on his little brother, Sam had managed to keep his insides calm for nearly forty-five minutes before he'd get sick.

Dean was caught off guard this time, however. The older brother fell asleep, and was awoken to Sam's gagging beside him. And now as he wet a cloth in cool water, Dean knew he had about another five or ten minutes before Sam would be out again.

_Crash_.

Or not.

"Sammy?" Dean came out of the bathroom to see Sam half collapsed onto the ground; feebly trying to grip a nearby chair.

"S-Sorry," Sam whispered.

"Hey Sam," Dean crouched down, and spoke softly "You ok?"

Sam stared at Dean a moment, "Dean? …hi."

"Hi Sam," Dean rolled his eyes, "You gotta take off your shirt."

"Dean…" Sam sat limply as Dean struggled to take off his soiled shirt, "Dean…"

"What is it Sam?" Dean forced back his own gag reflexes as he tossed Sam's shirt into a plastic bag.

Sam swayed back and forth slightly, "…fire bugs."

"Sam," Dean sighed, "Shut up. Just sit here for a minute, while I clean up your bed."

Sam nodded, and leaned his head into his hands. Dean patted his shoulder lightly and stood to his feet. By that point there wasn't much left in Sam's stomach, so the mess on the bed was minimal. With a quick pull, Dean grabbed up the sheets and blanket in one swoop, and tossed them in the corner of the room. Five minutes later a fresh set of linen was put on the bed, and Dean rounded it to check on Sam.

"Sammy, you with me?" Dean asked crouching down.

"Mphh," Sam muttered incoherently.

Dean grabbed a small bag from behind him, and pulled out a thermometer, "Hey Sammy, I'm gonna check your temperature again-- see if it's going down at all."

Dean turned Sam's face to look at him, and stuck the instrument in his mouth, with a firm '_keep it in this time_'. Sam's head hung backwards, and Dean took the few minutes to use the cool cloth to wipe down Sam's chest and face. The younger brother barely flinched at the cold water, and the whole time Dean just prayed the temperature would be down. If not, a hospital trip would be taken the next morning-- something neither Winchester wanted.

"Alright," Dean took the thermometer out at the small buzzing sound, and looked at it, "Oh, thank God… good job Sammy… down to 101.7."

"Happy?" Sam squinted at Dean.

Dean smiled and placed a hand on Sam's still warm cheek, "Yeah Sammy, I'm happy about that. It's still not perfect-- you have to take some more pills now, ok?"

"F-Fire… bugs," Sam breathed, his eyes slowly closing again.

"Yeah," Dean pulled out two Advil, two Gravol and a bottle of water, "Here Superman, take these."

The struggle was minimal, and soon Dean had pulled Sam up onto the bed. His little brother was fully unconscious by that time, and Dean knew nothing short of the end of the world would wake him.

"Get better Sammy," Dean whispered as he laid on his own bed, flicking on the television.

Dean didn't plan to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake for the next inevitable time that Sam would get sick. But it was halfway through _It's A Wonderful Life_ when Dean drifted off.

The first sound that came to the elder man's ears was that of running water. Memories rushed into his head quickly, and Dean sat bolt up in bed.

"Sam?"

The bed beside him was empty, and the bathroom door was open ajar, with the light on. The clock red 8:56am as Dean quickly got up and walked to the bathroom.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke again, opening the door fully.

A still shirtless Sam looked up from the sink, his face wet, "Hey Dean."

Dean let out a long breath, "Hey Sam… how are you?"

Sam nodded his head, "I'm ok…"

Dean placed the back of his hand on Sam's cheek, "Can't cook a fricken egg on your face anymore… that's good."

Sam smiled, "Yeah… it was 99.9 this morning when I got up."

"When was that?" Dean questioned.

"About twenty minutes ago," Sam answered glancing at the clock as they exited the bathroom, "I didn't want to wake you."

"You should have," Dean's voice was hoarse, "Sit down."

Sam sat down on the chair which sat near the bed; Dean taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"How's your stomach Sammy?" Dean asked, "Did you get sick at all?"

"No," again, Sam shook his head, "I feel a lot better. I-- don't remember too much. How long was I sick?"

It was Dean's turn to smile, "Almost two days dude."

Sam smiled sheepishly and looked down at his bare feet, "Thanks Dean."

"For what?"

Sam took a deep breath, "For looking after me."

"Aww, don't worry about it," Dean waved it off, "I'll just make you do all the laundry."

Sam laughed, "Yeah. Listen-- it really does mean a lot to me… when you help me. I want you to know that."

Dean nodded, trying to get past the sentimental moment, "I'm just glad you're ok Sammy… give it a day, and you'll have forgotten about it, and be down my neck for some stupid thing I'll do."

Dean stood up and tousled Sam's hair. Sam gave a small chuckle and watched as Dean got some fresh clothes out of his bag. His big brother didn't know how wrong he was…

"_It's ok Sammy," John soothed, rubbing six year old Sam's back, "You're ok."_

_Sam finished getting sick in the round bowl, and looked up at his Dad, tears coming down his red face. John smiled reassuringly, and held onto Sam, rubbing his shoulder._

"_Feel better buddy?"_

_Sam sniffled loudly, "Yeah. W-Where's Dean?"_

"_He went outside," John explained as Sam curled up onto his lap._

"_He promised we could catch the lights tonight," Sam spoke sadly._

"_The 'lights'?" John frowned as he brushed back dark brown curls from Sam's sweat laden forehead._

"_Uh huh," Sam's breath stuttered out, "The lights. D-Dean said."_

"_What lights?" John asked, beginning to again rub Sam's back._

"_They fly," Sam tried to explain, "At n-night. Dean said w-we could catch them."_

"_Oh," John laughed lightly, "A fire fly."_

"_Yeah," Sam nodded, "A fire bug. Dean said we c-could catch fire bugs."_

"_Well you and Dean can catch some when you're feeling better," John promised, "Right now you're sick, and Dean wants to do his own things."_

_A sad sniffle came out of the young boy's body as he snuggled in closer to his Dad. The six year olds eyes were just closing when a slam from the front door caused him to jolt awake._

"_Dean," John scolded as the ten year old came into the living room, "Your brother was almost asleep."_

"_Sorry Dad," Dean panted out of breath, his arms behind his back, "But I have something for Sammy. To make him feel better."_

_John smiled, and looked down at the tired looking Sam, "What do you say Sammy?"_

_Sam nodded wordlessly._

_Dean grinned and bent down in front of Sam, "Look what I brought you Sammy!"_

_Proudly Dean pulled out a small, lidded glass jar from behind his back. Inside was a small glowing ball floating around._

"_A fire bug!" Sam cried out struggling to sit up._

"_Easy Sammy," John cautioned helping him into a sitting position._

"_Yup!" Dean grinned, handing the jar to Sam, "I caught it just for you."_

"_Thanks Dean," Sam stared in awe at the small bug flying around the glass jar._

"_No problem Sammy," Dean grinned proudly, "Do you feel better at all?"_

"_Yeah!" Sam eagerly nodded, and turned towards John, "Look Daddy! Dean caught me a fire bug!"_

"_That's great," John looked at Dean and winked, "And I heard that they have special healing powers. I bet you'll be feeling better in no time."_

"_Really?" Sam looked again at the glowing bug._

"_Yeah," Dean agreed, "And then maybe tomorrow you can come and catch some more with me."_

_Sam smiled and gave a wide yawn. Soon the six year old was laying comfortably in his own bed, sleeping soundly-- the small jar sitting protectively beside him-- the fire bug nestled safely inside._

The End.


	19. To the Count of Five

_Disclaimer: No. Non. Nein. Geen. Não. Ingen._

_A/N: Alright... this one shot... I really, really want to know what you think, so I hope you will review. But, I guess I'll put in a **warning**... this thing can be seen as a death fic. Actually this one shot can be viewed two ways... depends on how you look at it. That's the main reason I want you to review. I'm still not sure if I like this one shot-- I'll know after I get a response to it. But please, do read it through-- even if you don't like death fics, this thing can be viewed either way-- depending on how you take the ending. Lemme know how you took the ending and if you enjoyed this one shot-- it's pretty risky... I'm very weiry about it..._

* * *

_Title: To the Count of Five  
Genre: Mainly it's angsty... and pretty suspessful.  
Summary: Ok... so Sam and Dean go hunting in a supposidly haunted house... where they learn that some legends really do come true..._

To the Count of Five

"Hey Dean?" Sam spoke quietly as they made their way up the winding, creaking wooden staircase.

"Yeah?" Dean breathed deep, his shot gun clutched in his hand and poised towards the stairs they were climbing.

Sam held his own silver bullet loaded pistol in his hand as he spoke, "Remember that legend Dad used to tell us when were little? The one with the counting…"

"Dude we're in the middle of a hunt," Dean's voice was quiet as he got to the top of the stairs and panned his flashlight down the endless dark hall, "What made you think of that?"

"Because we were in a house like this when he told it to me," Sam crept slowly; a pace behind his older brother, "It was a tale about a girl that was playing hide and seek in a house."

"I remember," Dean's breath came in white puffs as the temperature dropped inside the old house, "She was counting, but before she got to five, she was--"

Dean shone the flashlight onto his face for a dramatic effect.

"Killed."

"Nice Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, "I think Dad just told it so that we wouldn't wander off from him. It scared the crap out of me though."

"Not hard to do Sammy," Dean joked working his way down the hall.

_One._

"Dean this is the third floor of this place," Sam looked back around to where they'd come up the stairs to make sure nothing was following them, "Maybe the thing left."

"Sam how many times have you known a poltergeist to just leave?" Dean frowned opening up a door to their right.

"Yeah," Sam stepped beside his brother in the door frame and panned his flashlight into the room.

It was a children's room with a small bed still sitting at the far end, and half fallen bookshelves hanging from the wall. Dean took a hesitant step inside, Sam following behind; something about the room caused the younger brother's heart to beat faster. A cold breeze washed over them suddenly as something ran quickly down the hall and both hunters swiveled around.

_Two._

"What was that?" Sam's voice shone with fear.

"Still think it just left Sammy?" Dean muttered stepping out into the hall and panning his flashlight both ways.

Nothing.

"You have the EMF on you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean held his flashlight between his teeth for a moment as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the well used detector.

Sam turned off his flashlight, shoved it in his pocket, and took the EMF from Dean. Turning it on, the younger Winchester panned around; not even a low hum came out.

"I definitely saw something run down the hall out of the corner of my eye," Sam spoke.

"So did I," Dean confirmed, "Come on, lets keep going."

_Three._

"What?" Sam stopped, "Dean, I vote we just go back."

"Sam, we have our guns," Dean insisted, "We'll be fine. We have to get this evil son of a bitch before it kills any more people. It's our job."

Sam was going to respond bitterly, but decided against starting an argument in the middle of a haunted house. The hallway was long and narrow with random doors scattered on either side. Dean randomly tried more doors to find they were all locked. The darkness got thicker the further they went.

"Dean--" Sam's voice broke through the silence.

Something wasn't right.

"Sam, don't worry about it," Dean turned around to face his little brother, "If you're still worried about the legend Dad told us, I can tell you it wasn't true. He told it to me when I was little too-- he just did it so that we'd be more careful. More alert."

"It's working," Sam muttered following Dean's continued trek down the hall.

It was the last door on their left that finally worked and opened up with an ominous creak. The room was pitch black, and the light from the older brother's flashlight seemed to be eaten up by the consuming darkness.

"Come on Sam," Dean didn't want to leave his brother out in the hall without a light.

Sam stepped inside the room and attempted to look around. Dean's flashlight panned around, barely illuminating the walls. A tall mirror stood in one corner, a dresser with glass details on it sat against the adjacent wall. A large queen sized bed sat right next to the door and a walk-in closet was on the wall to their left. Finally Dean's flashlight caught the far corner of the room.

"Dean," Sam breathed out, the EMF meter suddenly beeping a loud, shrill noise.

The flashlight shone on the back of a girl wearing a long, white and bloodstained dress. She faced the corner of the wall, her dark brown hair falling down her back in messy bunches as her gray arms hung limply at either side. The door behind them slammed shut causing both Sam and Dean to jump.

_Four._

"Sam!" Dean cried out as his flashlight suddenly went out, sending their world into darkness.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was just as panicked, "Dean, what the hell is going on?!"

"I don't know," Dean's voice shook, "But try and get to the door. We have to get out of here right now."

"No kidding," Sam took one step towards where the door was before he was ripped backwards and flung against the wall; smashing into the mirror, "_Arggg!_"

"Sammy!" Dean called out.

"Dean," Sam's voice was laced with pain, "Dean, I'm hurt!"

Dean's heart thumped as a child's laugh suddenly echoed through the room, "Sam, where are you?"

"I'm at the far wall," Sam groaned out as he attempted get up.

A loud smash pierced the air and Dean felt shards of glass fly at him as the large dresser was flung to the ground. Pain radiated through his body as the glass stung every inch of his bare skin, though the only thing he cared about was getting to his brother.

"Sammy!" Dean called out again.

"Dean!"

"Sammy, I'm coming, I--" Dean was suddenly tossed like a rag doll across the room and landed with a thickening thud against the door to the closet; the splintering wood jabbing painfully into his back.

"_Dean!_" Sam cried out, hearing the noise.

"Sammy, get out of here!" Dean yelled out, loud smashing mixed in with child's laughter filling the room.

"_Dean!!_" Sam's scream for help barely penetrated the noise.

"Sammy, _run!!_"

Then there was silence.

_Five._

The End.


	20. And Back Again

_Disclaimer: Never in my wildest dreams._

_A/N: It has come to my attention that I am a phycic... at least if I could spell it, I would be one. Actually, I'm lying... about both things... I can spell psychic, and I'm not really one. But looking back on history I **know** that soon my computer is going to crash, and I will loose all of my stories. And in the many months that it has been since posting, I've accumulated damn near fifty stories, and the loss of them would be cause for a national disaster. Anyways, I've decided to start posting again on here so that when the inevitable does happen, I'll at least have a back-up of these stories.  
Now with this particular one shot. Ironically it ties in with the last one I have on here; 'To the Count of Five'. When I wrote it, however, it was writen a long time after I wrote 'To the Count of Five', and I really had no intention of posting it right after because I wanted this one shot to be able to be read as an individual story, not necessarily a continuation. But, I wanted to grab my readers attention after my nice hiatus, and so posting the following one shot seemed like a good way to do it. In conclusion, **yes** it is very connected to the one shot 'To the Count of Five', and will make those of you who took that one as a death fic happy. Enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: And Back Again  
Genre: This story is pretty suspessful.  
Summary: This is one of the few stories that has very little to do with Sam and Dean-- hell, they're not even in it until then end. But... it ties in with something very real that happened to them._

And Back Again

"Em! Hey Em!" the young boy's eyes shone with excitement, "Want to play?"

The girl spun around, her white dress whirling around her, and her dark, wavy hair bouncing atop her head, "My _name_ is Emily. And why would I want to play with _you_ Andrew?" she paused, "You're evil."

"I am _not_ evil," Andrew declared, anger laced in his ten year old voice, "You're just a baby."

"I'm seven," Emily spoke defiantly, "And Daddy said that makes me a big girl."

Andrew rolled his eyes, "Who cares. Come on, lets play."

_Five._

Emily pondered this a moment, "Alright. What do you want to play?"

"Hide and go seek," Andrew instantly replied.

"I don't know how to play that," Emily admitted.

"It's simple," Andrew shrugged, "You face the corner over there and count. I'll run and hide, and after you're done counting, you have to come and find me."

Emily looked around the room she was standing in. She really wasn't supposed to be there-- it was her parents room. A tall mirror that her mother always fixed her dresses in sat in the corner beside her. Beside the door was the large bed with a night table sitting beside it; a tall candle burning light into the dim room. An expensive dresser with glass designs in it was against one wall and the walk in closet that held all her Mom's shoes and dresses was on the wall to her right.

Somehow Emily couldn't imagine very many places to hide in the small room.

"There's no where in here to go," Emily voiced her thoughts.

"Don't worry," Andrew shook his head, "I'll leave the room. But," an almost sinister smile came to the ten year olds face, "You still have to face the corner."

_Four._

"Ok," Emily agreed, "How far shall I count to?"

"Five," Andrew spoke quietly.

"Alright," Emily nodded, "But how do I know if I've won?"

Andrew though about this a moment, "When you've found me."

Emily moved to the corner of the room and turned her back to Andrew.

_Three._

"But Andrew," Emily called out, "You must make sure you make it easy. I've never played this game before remember."

"But I thought you said you weren't a baby," Andrew reminded her, "That you were a big kid."

"I am," Emily turned back around.

"Then you shouldn't be scared about where I am," Andrew seemed to be testing Emily in a way that neither child understood.

"I'm not scared," Emily stopped her words for a moment before continuing, "I just don't trust you."

"And why not Emily Rose?" Andrew stood to his full high, and huffed his chest out.

"Because you're evil," Emily stated simply.

"So?" Andrew shrugged, "Turn around."

_Two._

Emily looked at Andrew a moment before turning her back to the room.

"Make sure to cover your eyes," Andrew reminded her, "It doesn't count if you don't cover your eyes."

"Alright," Emily pulled her small hands up to her face, "Just hurry up and hide. I don't want Mom or Daddy to know I've been in here."

"Count to five," Andrew stated bluntly, "Backwards so I know you're not cheating."

"Five," Emily's hands continued to cover her face as she began her count.

Andrew didn't move, but instead just stood and stared at the back of her dress; her hair falling down.

"Four."

Swallowing hard, the ten year old pulled out a pair of scissors from the back of his pants. The handle was cool to the touch, and the blade ran long and sleek with a sharp end. His hand griped the scissors tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Three."

Andrew took a slow, silent step towards the corner where Emily stood. The metal weapon was still in his hand, and the blowing of the wind through the drapery masked any sound of his movement. He could smell her now; the smell of youth and sacrifice.

Of ignorance.

"Two."

He was close now. The scissors were loose in his sweaty hand as Andrew mentally drew the picture of his next move. Emily's back heaved in and out with the movement of her breath. Which one would be her last? Andrew knew he would decide that-- decide how and when. A small curl of a smile came to his lips moments before it happened. Emily was right.

He was evil.

_One._

Everything was quiet. That was the first thing that Dean noticed; was the silence. Not a sound came from anywhere, and the hunter was afraid to move, or even breath incase he should miss some sound to indicate where he was and what had happened.

He remembered.

Sam and himself had been going through the old house, trying to find a poltergeist that was causing trouble. No one had seen the thing… just heard it. Seen the broken glass it caused, or been locked into or out of rooms. It seemed like a simple case until the brothers had got to the top floor, and to the room with the large bed and fancy dresser.

Sam had screamed.

"Sammy…" only as this memory relayed in Dean's mind did the words escape his mouth.

With the realization of voice came the feeling of immense pain rushing though Dean's whole body. He was laying on the ground, covered in what felt like a mixture of wood, glass and blood. Something was loosely gripped in his right hand, and as Dean blindly felt it, he realized it was his flashlight.

"Come on," Dean whispered, hoping the once useless item would turn on.

The beam of light coming out of the end was followed by a brief sigh of relief from the older brother as he immediately began to pan around the room for Sam.

"Sammy," Dean gasped, spotting Sam crumpled on the floor on the opposite side of the room, "Sam!"

"Humpp?" Sam mumbled incoherently.

"Sam," Dean repeated as he came closer, "Hey man… open your eyes."

Sam obliged, and stared at Dean through confused green eyes.

"Hey Sammy," Dean groaned in pain as he attempted to get Sam into a sitting position.

Sam let out his own hiss of pain as glass dug into the palms of his hands. Realization of the broken glass surrounding him brought the younger brother's mind back to the situation.

"Oh God, Dean," Sam breathed, "Are you ok?"

Dean nodded, holding Sam's face in his hand to get a better look, "I'll be fine. What about you?"

The light shone in his face from his brother's flashlight as Sam nodded his head, "I'm ok. Dean, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Dean frowned at a large cut running down the side of Sam's face, "But we have to get out of here."

Before either Winchester could move, a loud, rustling wind swept through the room. Instinctively Dean grabbed Sam's arm, and positioned himself in front of him. As the wind died down, light shot out from two points in the room; a white mist slowly forming into two figures.

"Dean…" Sam whispered out.

"Shut up Sam," Dean spoke just as quietly, still keeping himself between his little brother and the unknown presence.

Slowly the swirl of light and white made its way into a young girl. Her arms were no longer gray and lifeless, and the blood from her dress was gone. A boy; taller and older, appeared feet away looking confused and frightened.

"Emily…" his voice was quiet, though echoed throughout the room.

"Andrew," Emily smiled, pausing for the moment, "…I found you."

The End.


	21. Birthday

_Disclaimer: This is as much mine as this is a recently writen story... _

_A/N: Holy smokes. Haha... this stories brought back angry memories of procrastination. As many of you may have figured out by now, I'm a big fan of Limp!Sam and Protect!Dean. So, as a birthday gift to myself, about two days before my birthday, I started typing up this one shot. I didn't get it done for my birthday though, but nevertheless, the aclaimed writer, Windy Fontaine's birthday was about a week after mine-- I could write it for her! Yeah... didn't finish it for that birthday either. I think I finished it about a month later...  
My birthday was on June 1st... _

* * *

_Title: Birthday  
Genre: This is pretty mellow... some suspense in it though, an everyone's favorite-- fluff.  
Summary: After a hunt gone array, Sam is missing in the woods, and remembers back to a time when himself and Dean were young and innocent._

Birthday

Sam stared down at his arm. He was wearing a t-shirt, and though the temperature was climbing into the high nineties, he wished a long sleeve shirt was adorning his muscular arms. Mainly because of the fact that the sun burn which had eaten his once normally tanned arms a bright pink was going to hurt for days.

If he lasted for days.

The woods were deep and thick, though that didn't stop the blaring sun from coming through. To say the younger brother was delirious wouldn't quite be true, though time had lost all meaning. Had he been there one day? Two? Maybe a week? He knew he started out with a bag with some water in it along with some clothes and other useless items-- though Sam had long ago ditched the bag after he ran out of water, and had to outrun what he thought was some sort of wild dog. Subconsciously the hunter moved his hand to the back of his waist band where his gun was.

There was one bullet left.

"_Dean!!_" Sam stopped and screamed the name with all his might.

He'd been doing this ritual since he got lost in the vane hope that someone-- whether Dean or not-- would answer. It was always a futile effort. Sam wasn't even sure Dean was in the forest anymore, and though he called for his big brother religiously, he always prayed that Dean _wouldn't_ answer-- that would mean that he would be lost as well. When the brothers first went into the woods, it was Dean's idea to split up to try and find the creature that had been terrorizing campers in the area. Sam saw nothing wrong with this concept as they both had a cell phone, and could keep in touch with each other. The last time Sam spoke to Dean, his older brother told him that he had found and killed the creature, and that he was heading back to the car. Dean told Sam to meet him there, and even joked that as an early birthday present, he'd let Sam drive.

Who knew how long it had been since then.

"Alright Dean," Sam gave in to exhaustion and sat his burnt and tired body down on a rotting log, "I'll give you another shot."

Sam pulled out his cell phone, and turned it on. It was quickly obvious that nothing was going to be said to his big brother as the small words reading '_no signal_' came across the screen. Sam sighed and felt a tear roll down his cheek as he slumped his face into his hands. The younger man didn't even realize his body falling into a slumber…

"_Dean, do you love me?"_

"_No," Dean stated simply as he sat sluggishly on the couch, a comic book in hand._

_Four year old Sam climbed onto the couch and sat nearly on top of Dean, "Why?"_

"_Because you're talking to me while I'm trying to read," Dean made no effort to look at his little brother._

"_You can't read," Sam grinned a toothy smile._

"_Yes I can Sammy, now just go," Dean sighed._

"_You __**can't**__ read Dean," Sam insisted._

"_And what makes you say that?" Dean was impatient, though now moved the comic book to look at Sam, "I don't just look at these things for the pictures."_

"_You can't because I can't," Sam stated matter of fact like._

"_Sammy, there's a lot of things I can do that you can't," a smile crept onto Dean's face, "I'm nine, and you're not even five yet."_

"_Oh," Sam paused, "Does that mean there's things I can do that you can't?"_

"_Probably not," Dean went back to his comic book._

_Again Sam was quiet as he watched Dean read the comic book. The pictures were bright and colorful to the younger brother, and after a moment he grinned and spoke up._

"_I can read, see--" Sam pointed a stubby finger at the paper, "It says 'Superman'."_

"_It doesn't __**say**__ Superman, it __**is**__ Superman," Dean groaned, "Why don't you go bug Dad. I bet he'll listen to you talk."_

"_Daddy left," Sam frowned, "He said he'd come back later. Where'd he go?"_

"_Nowhere Sam, just--" Dean finally gave up and placed the comic down in a huff, "Isn't it time for you to go to bed now Sammy?"_

_Sam defiantly shook his head, his brown curls bobbing around, "Nope. It's still light."_

"_Then go play with your toys," Dean stood up, "I'll make us some supper."_

"_Can I cook?" Sam asked following his big brother into the small kitchen._

"_No."_

"_Why?"_

_Dean closed his eyes to try and collect his patience, "Because you'd probably kill us both trying to make toast."_

"_No," again Sam shook his head, "Daddy let me press the button down once to make it."_

"_Good for you," Dean replied dully as he opened the cupboard in search of something easy to make, "How about Spaghetti-O's?"_

"_Ok," Sam grinned, "Can I turn on the stove?"_

"_No Sam!" Dean shot out, spinning around, "Just go away for a while and quit bugging me!"_

_Sam's lower lip trembled as he took a deep quivering breath. Before Dean could say anything, the young boy walked silently out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. Dean sighed, and decided against going after his little brother-- some quiet time would be good. Fifteen minutes of the silence went by, and slowly Dean began to feel more and more guilty about being mean to Sam-- all he wanted to do was help. Their supper was just beginning to become fully heated when Dean heard careful footsteps behind him._

"_Dean, do you love me?"_

_Dean paused and turned to his little brother, "What do you think?"_

_Sam bit his lower lip and shook his head slowly. _

_Dean laughed and sat down on the chair, pulling Sam near him, "Sammy, of course I do. I'm your big brother, I'm supposed to. But sometimes you just get in the way, and I wish you'd go away."_

"_Forever?" Sam's voice was small._

"_Not forever," Dean shook his head, "Just a while. But I always want you to come back, and I'll always be there for you when you do."_

_Sam studied Dean a moment before speaking, "Want me to go now?"_

"_No way!" Dean grinned standing up, and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Supper is almost done, and I need someone to make the toast!"…_

A ringing echoed in Sam's ears that woke him slowly from his restless memory. It took a moment for the hunter to remember where he was and what was happening, though as realization that the sound was his cell phone, reality clicked in quickly.

"The phone," Sam breathed, struggling in the dark surroundings to find it.

The wanted item was on the ground by his feet, and Sam saw the glowing name of 'Dean' shinning up at him; the best word he knew he'd ever see.

"Dean!" Sam immediately cried out, clicking the answer button on the phone.

"Sammy," Dean's voice choked out, "Thank God…" the reception crackled, though Dean's relieved voice was evident, "Where are you?"

Sam felt tears escaping down his cheeks as he spoke desperately, "I don't know."

"Alright," Dean swallowed hard, "Uhh…just try and go North man… there's a highway that goes all along the north side of the forest."

"Alright," Sam immediately looked up at the sky, trying to find his way north, "…ok, I think I know which way to head."

"Sam…" Dean's voice paused, "I don't want you to hang up."

"Dean, I have to," renewed determination shot through Sam, "I'll be alright, and I _will_ find you."

The words were no sooner spoken than a loud crackle came through the phone, and it cut off. Sam looked at the screen and saw '_no signal_'. The rest of the evening was spent walking by Sam. Their father had taught both brothers at a young age how to tell either by day or night which direction was North, and so he was fairly certain he was going in the right direction. It wasn't until the painful sun was just reappearing through the trees that Sam heard the sound of a distant highway.

"Thank you Dean," Sam whispered out, his feet hitting triumphantly against the worn asphalt.

Sam had been trying randomly to get a signal since he was cut off, and all through out the forest his phone had refused to give one. Now, however, the younger brother eagerly took the stubborn cell phone out, and grinned as he saw a weak, but positive signal was available.

"Sammy!" Dean answered after one ring, "Where are you?"

"The highway," Sam grinned into the phone, "Just passed the forty-eight sign. Thanks dude…"

"Thank God," Dean's voice whispered through, "Alright… it won't take me any more than half an hour to get to you. Will you be ok until then?"

"Yeah."

"I'll see you Sam," Dean spoke with an etch of worry in his throat before hanging up.

Sam began to walk down the highway, hoping that he was walking towards the direction that his brother was coming from, and not away. Sam heard the less than quiet Impala before he saw it round a corner in the distance in front of him, and then pull to the side of the road.

"Sammy!" Dean called getting out of the car.

Sam sighed and smiled, "Hey Dean."

"God it's good to see you," relief swept through Dean as he stepped up to Sam and looked critically at his face, "Gezz… you're burnt man…"

Sam nodded his head, "It hurts like hell."

Dean washed his hand over his face, closing his eyes briefly before nodding and again looked up at his little brother, "Are you ok?"

Sam patted Dean's arm, "I'll be fine. I was just--"

"Scared?" Dean guessed.

Sweat from the sun tickled Sam's forehead and stuck his shirt to his back. Watching, eyes full of sympathy, Dean mentally criticized Sam's condition as the younger brother pulled his shirt off. Sam's body was fit and muscular and every muscle seemed to flex as the young hunter wiped his face down with the dirty shirt.

"Dude you're going to look like a trucker now," Dean teased.

"What?"

"Your arms are about fifty times redder than the rest of your body," Dean frowned, "We'll have to put something on that when we get you to the closest motel. You look like crap Sammy."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam gave a sideways look at his brother, "You don't look too much better."

"Worrying about your ass is a full time job," Dean leaned up against the hood of the hot car.

Sam joined his brother, the sun beating down on his bare torso, "Hey Dean…"

"Yeah?" Dean stared down at the ground, willing his heartbeat to go back to normal.

"I'm sorry about when we were little," Sam began, "When I'd always follow you around and bug you and all of that. I know you wanted time to yourself, and I wouldn't let you."

"You're wrong Sammy," Dean paused, briefly wondering why Sam was talking about this, "I always liked you around me. I liked knowing where you were, and if you were ok. I liked knowing that someone else needed me."

Sam smiled, "But… you always used to tell me that you wanted time to yourself. And that you'd just want me to go away."

"Yeah," Dean laughed, "I also liked being the jerk older brother too. And… I do want to be by myself sometimes, but I always want to know where your ass is," Dean looked around, and shivered internally at how the events of the past few days _could_ have gone, "Not like this man…"

"I'm ok…" Sam reminded.

"I know," Dean looked over and grinned at his little brother, "But if you go and try to be Yogi Bear again, I'm going to kill you."

"Good," Sam stood up and stretched his body out.

Dean paused, a small smiled creeping onto his lips, "Hey Sammy…"

"Humm?" Sam got into the passenger side of the trusty Impala.

"I'm glad you're ok. And I'm glad you're back," Dean got into the drivers side, and started up the car, "But you have incredible timing to come back today."

"Why?"

Dean peeled out of the gravel and headed down the endless highway, giving a sincere look at Sam, "Happy birthday little brother."

The End.


	22. Ghost Town

_Disclaimer: Sure, these are mine-- c'mon Kripke, sue me! _

_A/N: Howdy doodle people! Thank you so much to the **very** few readers I have left-- glad you're enjoying it. There is some questioning as to whether I'm gonna continue posting these-- to either your elite, or dismay... yep... I got a good twenty of these things left, so each day after work, I'm posting a new one so I don't loose 'em. This one shot was almost thrown out when I was purging through half-written stories the other month. But it re-caught my attention, and I wrote it fairly quickly after that happened. So anyways, I love to write young Sam and Dean, and love to explore both the relationship that Sam and Dean had, and also the relationship that Dean and John had... and this story does that nicely while still adding the drama everyone loves. Enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Ghost Town  
Genre: Angsty! Yeah... really kindda angsty and supernatural.  
Summary: The three Winchester's are exploring an old ghost town where people have been reported of going missing. Nothing seems unusual besides the persistent bickering between Sam and Dean... at least nothing seems unusual until Sam disappears from right infront of Dean..._

Ghost Town

"Take this," John handed Dean a shotgun, "And watch Sammy's back."

"I wouldn't let him hear you calling him that," Dean smirked as he checked the barrel of the gun.

John frowned, leaning over the trunk of the Impala, "Why?"

Dean leaned against the warm car, "Come on Dad-- the kid's fourteen now. He damn near bit my head off the other day when I called him Sammy in front of April."

John chuckled, "Well, he's still my boy, and so I can call him anything I like. You, on the other hand, I'd prefer not to get into fights with your brother."

"That's kind of hard," Dean wiped some sweat from his forehead, "I'm eighteen now Dad-- he's fourteen, and about as annoying as he was when he was five."

John grabbed some more weapons out of the trunk, "He just wants to do his own thing. It's a phase-- he'll get over it. Until then," John handed a hatchet to Dean, "Watch out for him, and try not to make him mad."

"Make who mad?" Sam asked as he walked up behind them.

John smiled, "No one Sammy-- but we're about ready to go."

"Ok," Sam nodded, eying the weapons, "Do I get a gun this time?"

"Not this time," John shook his head, "Dean will take the shotgun and you can have the hatchet. And I want you to stay close to your brother."

Sam sighed exasperatedly, "Dad, why won't you let me use even the .49? You do back at home, and I've been practicing with it for years it seems."

"Not on this hunt," John stated, "We don't know exactly what's out here."

Sam looked around. They were in the middle of Arizona in the middle of July with the heat blistering at 113 F. A local ghost town was the sight of five missing people in the past three months, and John decided to investigate it, with Dean eagerly agreeing. Sam, on the other hand, had wanted to stay for the summer in San Diego where he was becoming increasingly interested in girls.

"Do you understand?" John spoke up after a moment of silence.

"Yes Sir," Sam muttered.

"Dean?" John looked at his oldest.

"Yes Sir," Dean handed Sam the hatchet, and held tight to the shotgun.

"Alright," John closed the trunk of the car, "You boys head down the west road, and I'll head south. We'll meet back at the car in a half hour _sharp_. Dean, you have one of the walkie-talkies?"

Dean lifted up the rim of his jeans to reveal the bulky device.

"Be careful, and watch out for each other!" John warned as they set in their two separate directions.

Sam walked slowly, shuffling his feet in the sand. He wore jean shorts with a white tank top, and a dark navy blue 'Marine' baseball cap. The sun beat down hard in areas that weren't covered in shade, and Sam wished nothing more than to be able to stay in the car.

"Come on Sammy," Dean elbowed his brother playfully, "Try to enjoy yourself."

"Oh yeah," Sam rolled his eyes sarcastically, "Walking through a desert in the middle of summer is a blast. And it's _Sam_."

Dean frowned, "You know this new attitude of yours is stupid. When I was your age I'd grown up a hell of a lot more than you."

"When you were my age Dad didn't move around every six months, and he actually let you use the good weapons," Sam pouted, trying to keep in the shade of the large, abandoned buildings.

"Grow up," Dean shot out, "Not everything is about you Sam. This is a hunt."

"I don't care," Sam stopped in his tracks, "What if I don't want to hunt things? My teacher back in San Diego said that I was really smart, and that if I keep my grades up like they are now, I might be able to get a scholarship to University or College."

"And do what?" Dean laughed, swiveling around, "Sam, you're not like other people. _We're_ not like other people. What could you do in school that Dad or I can't teach you?"

"I want to be a lawyer," Sam stated.

Dean shook his head and walked off more, "Honestly. I don't know where your personality comes from."

Sam breathed deep, anger bubbling up in his young, teenaged body, "I'm going back to the car."

"What?" Dean looked back at Sam, "Sam come on-- Dad said to stay with me."

"I don't care!" Sam shouted, "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be a part of this family anymore, and I don't want to 'stay close' to you!"

"You know what, fine," Dean gestured back down the road where the car was, "Go back to the car. Let Dad yell at you later for it."

"He always yells at me," Sam fumed.

"That's because you're always doing stupid things!" Dean argued back loudly.

Sam stared at Dean a moment before turning around and walking off. Dean turned his back on his little brother, though didn't move. He planned on following Sam back to the car, and then radio their Dad, but wanted to leave ample distance between the two of them. The older brothers back was turned only a few seconds, and when he turned around to follow-- Sam was gone.

"Sam?" Dean looked around, a small, cold feeling filling the pit of his stomach, "Hey Sam, this isn't funny!"

No reply came to his words, and Dean felt his heart start to pound.

"_Sammy!_"

The car was far off in the distance, and Dean knew there was no way Sam could have gotten there already. On either side of the road he stood in the middle of was old, run down wooden houses left over from the old mining town. The wind blew hot through the desert, blowing Dean's light brown hair.

"Sam if you're playing around, I am going to kill you!" Dean shouted out loudly.

Again, no answer came.

"Alright Sammy, I'm calling Dad!" one last feeble attempt was given, and with the lack of reply, Dean knew that it was serious.

With fumbling hands, Dean pulled out the walkie-talkie and called for his Dad.

"Dean, what is it?" John's voice crackled over.

"Dad, something got Sammy," Dean's frantic voice responded, "You gotta get over here-- please!"

"I'll be right there," John's authoritative voice ended the conversation.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed out again after turning off the walkie-talkie, "Sam please answer me!"

The combination of the heat and his heart rate quickly rising caused dizziness to rush through Dean making him to have to crouch onto the ground. His hands supporting him, Dean stared at the dirt, the tears slowly working their way down his face. He stayed like this for less than a minute before a shout came.

"Dean!" it was John, "Dean!"

Dean looked up, his world spinning with the sudden movement.

"Dean," John skidded to a stop by his eldest boy, and crouched down to his level, "Are you alright?"

"I lost him," Dean's voice shook out, "I lost Sammy Dad…"

John took hold of the side of Dean's face with one hand while still holding a long barrel shotgun in the other, "Dean, it's not your fault. I need you to tell me what happened son."

"I-I don't know," Dean stared into his father's worried eyes, "One minute he was there; I turned around, and then he was gone when I turned back."

"Wasn't he with you?" John questioned.

Dean paused, looking back down at the ground, "No. He left."

"What do you mean left?" his Dad's voice was laced with anger.

"He left," Dean repeated, "He got mad, and said he was going to head back to the car."

"And you _let_ him!?" John let his anger show now, though still stayed crouched down to Dean's level.

"I wasn't going to let him go by himself!" Dean defended, "I was going to let him have a small head start and then follow behind him."

"Dean, you are almost nineteen!" John barked, "I expected more of you! Your number one job on any hunt with your brother is to keep an eye on him, and--"

"And I screwed up!" Dean stood up, forcing the nauseous feeling down, "So if you're just going to stand here and tell me how horrible of a job I did looking out for Sammy, then leave; I already know!"

John was on his feet too, and took a deep breath, "Where did you see him last?"

"Right here," Dean looked around feebly, "He was right here, I turned my back for no more than five seconds, and when I turned back around, he was gone. I heard absolutely nothing, and the dirt around here doesn't show that there was any struggle."

"Ok," John washed his hand over his face, "Ok… you still have your weapon?" Dean pulled it out of a back holster he had on, "Alright-- you go right, and I'll go left. Leave the walkie-talkie on, and meet back here _no matter what_ in ten minutes. Understand?"

"Yes Sir," Dean nodded, flicking on the radio.

"Be careful," John warned taking a step away.

"Dad," Dean called out, turning towards his father, "Dad… I'm sorry."

John nodded, "I know."

Wordlessly Dean walked off to his right, gun clutched in hand as he looked around. The building he walked towards was an old sheriff office with rotting boards covering broken windows. The door was unhooked, and with a low creak, Dean pushed it open.

"Sam!" he called out, "Hey Sam, are you in here?"

The reply wasn't that of his brother, but one of an unknown origin that echoed quietly in the abandoned office.

'_You were bad. You were supposed to watch Sammy._'

"Who's there!" Dean shouted, poising his gun ahead of him, rotating slowly.

'_Sammy was bad. He was supposed to stay by you._'

"Show yourself you son of a bitch!" Dean's voice caused dust to vibrate down the walls.

'_Sammy needs to be punished._'

"No," Dean breathed before again raising his voice, "No! Leave Sam alone! It wasn't his fault, it was mine!"

There was no reply, and, again, Dean found himself frantically looking around for anything. There was nothing there except an old desk collecting dust beside a door. Upon seeing it, Dean ran off through the door which lead into a hallway. On either side of the straight hallway was a large holding cell with a long window. Light shot through the room lighting up the way for the still young hunter.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke monotone, weary of every shadow, "Sammy, can you hear me?"

Yet another door was at the end of the hallway and Dean walked slowly towards it, turning the old handle carefully. It opened soundlessly, and Dean found himself staring into a bright field and breathing in hot air. Forced to shade his eyes, Dean took a step out and glanced around.

He heard it before he saw it.

"_Dean!_"

"Sam," Dean immediately recognized his little brother's voice and stared off in front of him.

A tall plank off wood stood up from the ground with another, even taller beam of timber sticking up from that. Dean recognized it immediately as gallows; a place where they hung people a long time ago, and as he stared more, the older brother's blood turned cold.

Sam stood with his arms tied behind his back, and a noose around his neck.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out taking two large strides to get closer.

"Dean, watch out!" Sam had tears coming down his face and his eyes were wide, "It's here! The Sheriff! It's here somewhere!"

Just as the words left Sam's mouth a wind blew through the clearing, and a figure stood between Dean and his little brother. The man wore old western clothes, but it was the large badge pinned to his chest that gave him clue that it was indeed the Sheriff. He stared at Dean a moment before a smile crept across his old weathered face.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" Dean pointed the gun towards it.

"You're brother was bad," the Sheriff spoke, "He needs to be punished."

Dean let out a nervous chuckle, "Is that what you've been doing to all the people that have gone missing around here?"

"I'm the Sheriff, it is my job to punish those who have done wrong."

"Yeah, well Sammy didn't do anything wrong," Dean spat out.

"Yes he did," the Sheriff raised one arm, "And now he needs to be punished. And then you will be."

"Guess what," Dean whispered, a slow smile creeping to his face, "You were bad too."

A blast from the shot gun erupted through the spirit causing it to disappear into thin air. Immediately Dean's gaze went to Sam who continued to stand helplessly on the platform looking scared.

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean breathed out, tossing the shotgun to the ground, and running the few feet, "I got you."

Seconds later Dean had the rope off from around Sam's neck, and he worked quickly to untie his bound hands. For a moment the two brothers stared at each other before Sam let out a quiet sob, and threw his arms around Dean.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean rubbed his little brother's back, "It's ok-- I'm here. You're alright."

"I was so scared," Sam whispered into his brother's shirt, "I didn't want to die. I'm sorry I left Dean," his fourteen year old body shook deeply, "I'm so sorry,"

"Hey," Dean pulled Sam back, and brushed his hair from his sweaty forehead, "It's ok Sammy."

Sam took a deep breath before asking, "Where's Dad?"

"Right, Dad!" Dean fumbled for the walkie-talkie, "Hey Dad, can you hear me?"

There was a slight crackle before John's voice came through, "Yes Dean, it's me; what's going on?"

Dean smiled, "I have Sam."

"Where?" immediate worry was evident in the oldest hunter's voice, "Where are you? Is he alright?"

"We're behind the Sheriff office," Dean supplied, "Just walk right through it. And yeah; he's ok-- just kindda scared," Dean shot a teasing look at his little brother, "But, you know, that's Sammy."

There was a long pause before John's hoarse voice cracked through, "I'll be right there."

Dean turned off the radio and sat down on the edge of the plank, his feet hanging nearly three feet from the ground. Sam sat down beside him, staring down at the dirt, forcing his heart and breathing back to normal.

"Are you ok?" Dean asked after a few moments, placing a hand around Sam's still trembling shoulder.

Sam nodded, "Yeah. I-I lost my hat."

Dean laughed, "That's ok. I'm sure we can find you another one."

"Is Dad mad?" Sam abruptly asked.

"About what?" Dean looked towards him.

"About me leaving," Sam explained still looking down, "I know I shouldn't have; he said to stay with you. But I didn't," Sam's voice cracked as he spoke his next words, "That Sheriff was right… I did deserve to be punished."

"_No_," Dean spoke firmly, pulling Sam's face to look at him, "Sam, no. Dad was not mad at you; he was mad at me. _I'm_ the one that did the bad thing. I let you go. I didn't listen to you when you were saying how much you didn't want to hunt. I should have; both Dad and I need to let you do what makes you happy. Not us. Don't blame yourself for this Sammy."

"It wasn't your fault Dean," fresh tears slipped down Sam's face, "I like to hunt; I do. I like knowing that we're stopping other families from getting hurt like ours did. But sometimes I want to see what else is out there. I shouldn't have left though."

"You're right Sammy," a quiet voice came from across the clearing, "You shouldn't have left."

"Dad!" Sam cried out, a smile spreading across his dirty face.

His youngest son jumped from the wooden platform, and ran over to where John pulled him tightly into an embrace. Sam held tightly onto his Dad while John stroked his hair comfortingly.

"And Dean's also right," John spoke near a whisper as emotions threatened to claim him, "Your brother and I need to listen to you more."

"It's ok Dad," Sam moved back and shook his head, "It's ok. I promise I'll be good-- I won't be bad."

John grinned and clapped Sam on the shoulder, "You're fourteen years old Sammy… you're supposed to do things that I don't want you to."

"But being hung up by your neck kid…" Dean added walking over, "Not recommended as one of those things."

John tilted Sam's head back and wiped away dirt and tears, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," again Sam internally shivered at the memories, "It was the Sheriff."

"Ok," John started walking towards the building, holding Sam close to him as he went, "I can burn his bones some time tomorrow. For right now lets get the two of you back to the hotel, and you Sammy, to bed."

"Ok," Sam leaned into his Dad, not realizing until that point just how exhausted he was.

"If it will make you feel better," Dean put in as they walked, "I won't call you Sammy anymore."

Sam smiled over at his big brother, "I don't mind when you call me Sammy," he paused, "…most of the time."

The End.


	23. Love, Like and Hate

_Disclaimer: Oh God... so, if I have, like fifty of these one shots up here, I gotta think of fifty ways to say no?! That's rediculous... _

_A/N: Slowly, but surely, I see more people coming back to my one shots. Haha-- it's entertaining me. Ok-- with this one shot... every time I read it over, the ending still kindda catches me off guard. Haha... that really shouldn't happen when I'm the one who wrote it, huh? I just get so into the story, into what's happening, and then... yeah. **No**, this is **not** a death fic, so don't skip to the end to see if our boys are alive-- they are. This is just a story, that I guarantee will either make you groan, or go 'aww' at the end. Haha... I more groan... enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Love, Like and Hate  
Genre: Pretty suspensful... though not in a scary way.  
Summary: Dean contimplates his feelings he has for Sam... just realized right now how this could be taken... nope-- not slash or wincest... just good 'ol brothers._

Love, Like and Hate

As Dean grew up, he remembered many times when he'd yell at Sam that he hated him. Fiercely the words would come out, usually followed by a hard shove or an evil glare. If their Dad was around, Dean would usually find himself quickly with a red bottom and a weeks worth of privileges revoked.

If he wasn't around, young Sammy would often look up at Dean, tears in his eyes as he asked '_Do you really hate me Dean?_'. God that kid could pull a good puppy look. And most of the time it would get to the older brother, and Dean would soften, give young Sammy a hug and say that no, he didn't hate him. Sometimes were different though.

Sometimes Dean really did hate Sam…

"_Get out Sam!_" Dean roared, "_Just get the hell out then!_"

"Fine!" Sam yelled just as loudly.

They were in a hotel room, and both brothers were pretty sure their neighbor on either side was listening with interest to their argument. It was a stupid argument; one Dean knew they would regret in the morning, but seemed infinitely important at that moment. Sam wanted to go to the next town over before stopping for the night, and Dean, keen on the local bar, wanted to stay there.

"You know what," Dean's voice dropped as Sam shoved random objects into his bag, "You're an asshole."

"Yeah, I've heard that line before," Sam grumbled, pulling his jacket on harshly.

That only seemed to make Dean more angry and it was just before Sam got to the door that he spoke his next sentence, "… I hate you Sam."

For one fleeting moment Sam wasn't sure he heard his twenty-seven year old brother correctly. And in that moment Dean fully expected Sam to turn to him with his five year old eyes and say pleadingly '_Do you really hate me Dean?_'. That moment passed however.

Sam nodded, opening the door, "Good."

Dean stood stunned in the silence as the old, wooden door slammed shut on him. The words had been said less than a minute ago, and yet it seemed like ages ago. Time had lost all meaning, and suddenly Dean was transported back to a time when the words seemed somehow meaningless. Not to a time when the words of hate meant something, and when they seemed so permanent.

"I hate you," the words repeated in a whispered out of Dean's mouth, followed by a slow moving tear.

He hated Sammy, and the realization of the truth of the statement made the elder man shout it out to the deserted room.

"_I hate you!!_"

His breath was ragged, and uneven as Dean slumped onto the bed. He hated how Sam scared him so much. He hated how Sam could mean so much to him, and yet he could never protect him. He hated Sam for his ability to get himself into trouble at exactly the wrong time. He hated how Sam had saved his life so many times; keeping him on this God forsaken world.

Dean hated Sam.

Almost immediately after the younger Winchester left, rain started to pelt against the windows, and thunder cracked loudly from the sky. Anger and hatred once again bubbled up in Dean at Sam for leaving.

"Why Sam?" Dean asked the empty room, the lights flickering from the hesitant power, "Why do you do this to me?"

The word hate popped into Dean's mind again, but he refused to say it or think it any more. The word became feared, and Dean fought to try and keep good thoughts towards his currently missing brother.

But none seemed to come.

When Dean was in middle school; barely thirteen, his best friend Jason got a new little brother. Jason was thrilled with this, and basked in the big brother role. After school one day eight year old Sam had been particularly annoying with his constant questioning and pestering, and with a harsh word from big brother, the small child left Dean alone. Jason seemed shocked and asked Dean if he liked Sam anymore.

Dean said no.

A loud crack of thunder brought Dean back to his current surroundings, and a cold feeling filled the pit of his stomach. Did he really hate his precious little brother? The human being which he'd been raised to protect, and to shield from any harm. It was there, Dean knew it-- the dreaded '_h_' word. Thought after thought raced through Dean's mind as he sat in the hotel room that he barely noticed when a small click came from the door, and a low, steady squeak came from it being opened.

Looking over, Dean saw a sopping wet Sam walk into the room, and without realizing it, Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"Sammy," Dean cleared his throat, "Are you ok?"

Sam studied Dean for a moment, taking in the question and appearance of the older brother. If Dean had thought at all of his looks, this action wouldn't have seemed to peculiar. The elder hunter's face was still red, and damp from unknown tears. A random shirt was being squeezed tightly in his fist so as Dean's knuckles now stuck out in white contrast.

"Umm," Sam paused, "Are you?"

Dean quickly nodded, and seemed to become aware of himself as he dropped the shirt and feebly wiped away at the tears, "I'm- I'm fine."

"Dude," a smirk pulled at Sam's features, "No you aren't." cautiously Sam took two steps towards Dean, who was now standing up, "What's wrong?"

A gentle hand was placed on Dean's shoulder, and for a moment Dean let it stay there; feeling the wet and cold through his own cotton t-shirt.

'_Damn, he must be freezing_,' Dean thought worriedly before his thoughts suddenly turned on him, '_Damn you Sammy! Making me always worry about your ass!_'

"Dean--" Sam interrupted his thoughts.

"I was just thinking," Dean spoke quietly.

"About what?" Sam questioned.

Dean shook his head before moving away, his back to Sam. It was a long minute before either Winchester moved or spoke.

"Dean," Sam was the one to break the silence, "Dean…do you really hate me?"

Dean turned around, new, fresh tears rolling their way down his face, "Yeah Sammy… I do."

Sam stood there, a mixture of stunned and hurt plastered on his wet face. Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw tears creeping their way down as well. The silence was far less drawn out this time before a smile crept to Dean's face, followed quickly by a confused look from Sam.

"But," Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder gently and affectionately, "You know I love you, right?"

The End.


	24. Papa Winchester

_Disclaimer: Nuh uh!! _

A/N: Okey dokey... that last fic-- I was really curious how some of you would take it; some understood it, some didn't. Like Landwing said in their review, love and hate are extremely close to each other-- often overlapping. It is very possible to love someone and hate them at the same time, and Ziggy, too, is right-- sometimes you hate someone for the exact reasons that you love them-- you want to punch the living daylight out of a person for the same reason you want to hug them. Trust me, I know-- haha, I have three brothers. Sometimes I see this in Sam and Dean, and so had decided to write a story putting the emotions in blunt terms. Glad some of ya like it!  
So with this story, I searched-- haha, very briefly-- the site, and only found one story kindda like this. Though all episodes were awesome in season two, the episode 'No Exit' lacked some of the qualities the other ones had. Though it did have a very interesting conversation between Dean and Jo, and Dean talks about the memory with his Dad that he won't forget-- the first time he was taken out shooting. So, I took the memory, and ran with it-- producing this nice little fic. Enjoy!

* * *

Title: Papa Winchester  
Genre: It's a nice, almost a little fluffy fic.  
Summary: Dean was only six years old when his Dad took him out shooting for the first time...

Papa Winchester

It was an odd sensation to John Winchester as he pulled into the old farm. The sun was shinning, and he had his two boys in the back seat of the car. Two year old Sam was asleep from the two hour car ride, though six year old Dean was pretty much the opposite; staring out the window with anticipation. The place belonged to John's friend Caleb, and it was used precisely for the reason the Winchester's were there for.

Training.

John was taking Dean out shooting for the first time, and it was hard to tell whether John was more nervous, or Dean more excited. Either way almost immediately after stopping the car Dean quickly undid his seat belt and flung open the door.

"Come on Dad!" he cried out, "I want to try."

"Just wait," John smiled getting out and rounding to the back seat, "I have to get your brother."

"Let him sleep," Dean waved a hand towards the still slumbering toddler, "He'll just get in the way."

"Dean…" John frowned at his eldest.

Dean flushed slightly, "Sorry."

Turning away John let out a small chuckle as he undid Sam's booster seat straps, and carefully lifted him out of the back seat. Cradling young Sammy on one hip, John closed the door and went to the trunk.

"The guns," Dean whispered out excitedly, staring at his Dad's movements.

"Here," John pulled out a small stroller that was tucked into the trunk, "Set this up for me while I find what we need."

Dean let out a small groan, though by the time he was done the simple task, John had closed the trunk and turned around. Wordlessly he placed the still sleeping Sam into the stroller, and started walking down the gravel roadway to behind one of the barns.

"What am I going to shoot?" Dean questioned.

"Exactly what I tell you to," John spoke, "And if you play around _at all_ Dean, I am taking you home, and we aren't going to be coming back until you're thirty."

Dean giggled, "What about Sammy? When are you going to teach him to shoot?"

"When he's older," John grinned, "Right now lets work on teaching him to dress himself properly."

Finally the three Winchester's got to a clearing with a tall oak tree. What looked like a very tall bench with platforms at different heights stretched out for nearly thirty feet. John placed his bag down on the ground, and took out half a dozen cans and bottles, and with Dean watching, set them at different levels along the platform.

"Alright Dean," John spoke, "You're going to practice using a BB Gun, ok?"

"But Dad," Dean groaned, slumping his shoulders, "I already know how to use one of those."

"I know you do," John confirmed, "Which is why we're going to practice with that."

John pulled out a small gun which looked as if it could easily be a hand gun.

"Wow," Dean's eyes brightened, "I've never seen that one before. Is it a real one, or a BB Gun?"

"A BB," John handed it to his eldest son, "It's a specially made one that Pastor Jim made for you, and is meant to work just like a real gun. Try it out; see if you can hit the targets."

Dean wordlessly nodded and aimed towards the bottles. Cocking the gun, he pulled the trigger, and with small 'pop', knocked out the first target. Not looking towards his Dad, Dean continued to knock out all six targets before placing the gun at his side grinning.

"Good job Dean," John smiled, "Are you ready for the real thing now?"

"I think so," against his enthusiasm before, nervousness now slipped through the six year old.

"You don't have to Dean," John immediately said, "I don't want you doing this until you're completely ready."

"No, I'm ready," Dean quickly spoke, "But what about Sammy? Won't it be loud for him?"

"I'll get him ready," John assured, "I just want to know that you're ready first."

Dean took a deep breath and pulled his frame up as high as possible, "I'm ready Sir."

"Good," John nodded, and pulled out a small hand gun, "Which one is this?"

"The .49," Dean immediately replied, "It has a small kickback, but is powerful enough to kill anything."

"All guns can kill people," John warned handing the gun to Dean, "Now show me how you hold it when you're about to shoot."

Like an expert, Dean clutched the gun and pointed it towards the cans and bottles.

"Don't lock your elbows," John walked over and held onto Dean's arms, loosening them, "You have to keep a grip on the gun, but keep your elbows loose; you can dislocate a shoulder, or break something if the kickback is too strong."

Dean nodded, and did as he was told.

"Alright," John nodded, "You're ready." he walked over to the still slumbering Sam, "Hey Sammy, it's time to wake up."

Sam let out a wide yawn, and squinted through tired eyes, "Daddy?"

"Yeah buddy," John grinned, "Dean's going to shoot now, so you have to get up, ok?"

Sam nodded, and John helped him out of the stroller. Confused by the different surroundings, the two year old stood for a few moments staring around at things.

"Hi Sammy," Dean grinned over at his little brother.

"Hi Dean," Sam let out another yawn.

"Put these on," John walked over with a pair of noise protectors to Dean, "and when you see that Sammy and I are a safe distance away, and Sam's ears are covered, you can take the safety off, and go at it. Alright?"

"Yes Sir," Dean swallowed.

"Come here Sammy," John took Sam's hand and pulled him ten feet away from the eldest brother.

Crouching down, John stood Sam in front of him, and held what looked liked giant headphones over the young boys ears. Dean looked over, and John gave a small, confirmative nod. His heart thumping in his chest, Dean took a deep breath and cocked the gun. Hand steady, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

The first can shot out across the field.

Five more shots blasted out on that warm summer morning, and five more targets were hit dead on by one Dean Winchester. It was over in less than a minute, but the six year old knew the feeling would last a life time and more. Carefully he replaced the safety as his Dad had always taught him, and held the warm gun down to his side. With his free hand, Dean removed the protection from his ears, and looked over at his Dad.

It was a look Dean would never forget, and would hold close to him for the rest of his life. John remained crouched down with Sam now sitting on the grass in front. Slowly a smile spread to his Dad's face that made the six year think he'd concurred the world.

He knew he hadn't though… it just felt like it.

The End.


	25. I Always Wanted to be a Fireman

_Disclaimer: on, eseht era ton enim._

_A/N: Wow, this has to be a first! So I went back to my parents for the weekend, and, like a dunce, didn't send any of my one shots through my e-mail so I could post. But then, on a whim, I wrote up this one shot tonight-- in about two hours between playing some weird game on the Wii with my brother. It's kindda long; which surprised me-- I must'a been on a roll. It's just a story that game to me after watching the last episode of season one where Dean tells Sam about how he always wanted to be a fireman. That's all I gotta say about this one-- enjoy, and don't forget to review!_

* * *

_Title: I Always Wanted to be a Fireman  
Genre: It's really quite suspensful.  
Summary: Fifteen year old Dean was awoken one night to the cry of his little brother and the smell of smoke. With the deadly flames coming closer, and his Dad missing, Dean knows it's up to him to save not only himself, but young Sammy as well..._

I Always Wanted to be a Fireman

Dean wasn't sure what happened first… even years later when he'd think back he couldn't be sure. It could have been any one of three things; the loud alarm, the smell of smoke or his little brother crying out his name. Odds are it was Sammy's cry-- no matter what was happening, no matter how deep of a sleep Dean was in, Sam could always get Dean's attention. And the eldest brother _had_ been fast asleep when he was awoken in the middle of the night.

"Dean!" Sam's cry jolted the fifteen year old out of his deep sleep, "Dean, help!"

Immediately the other two elements were noticed as Dean heard the fire alarm, and could not only smell the smoke, but see the thick black mask enveloping the room they were in. It was a small hotel room that their Dad had rented out for a month; a place to stay between renting houses their Dad had promised. It wasn't that bad Dean had rationalized-- it had two bedrooms; one for himself and eleven year old Sam, and one for their Dad. The place had a small kitchenette, a slightly larger living room area, and even a bathroom with a shower stall in it. The cheep hotel was two stories tall with a swimming pool off to the side that hadn't been open in about two years. Now, however, none of that seemed to matter as a loud cough erupted from Sam's side of the room in a strangled attempt to call out Dean's name again.

"Sammy!" Dean called out, his own gagging cough escaping, "Sammy, get to the ground!"

There was a soft thump as he heard his little brother follow his command, and Dean followed quickly after. With fumbling hands, Dean reached up to the end table, and kicked the button on for the lamp. The light barely penetrated the black smoke, though it gave Dean the opportunity to see that, in fact, Sam had gone to the floor, and was now laying there covering his mouth; his eyes wide.

"It's gonna be ok Sammy!" Dean cried out.

Dean braved the smoke which worked against gravity as he leaned up onto his bed, and grabbed his pillow. His eyes stung from the smoke, though quickly the elder brother pulled off the pillowcase, and crawled over to his little brother.

"Put this over your face," Dean commanded, handing the navy blue pillowcase to Sam, "And don't move it! Take slow breaths Sammy."

Sam nodded and did as he was told.

"Stay here," Dean commanded.

"Dean, no!" Sam cried out, clutching at Dean's arm as he tried to move away.

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean's heart pounded as he stroked Sam's hair back, "I won't leave you-- I promise. I just-- I have to figure out a way to get us out. I have to see if it's safe."

Sam's feeble, scared nod was followed by the release of Dean's t-shirt, and the teen crawled away towards the door. The closer he got, the louder the noise of the fire got, and with that thought, his blood turned to ice.

"Dad…" Dean whispered, his throat tightening in fear.

Finally he reached the closed door, and Dean's heart pounded so hard it hurt… or was that from the smoke? The heat was obvious by this point, and, pulling his once white shirt over his mouth and nose, Dean rose to his knees and touched the handle. He recoiled back in pain as the knob was hot enough to burn in the mere half a second it was touched.

"No," Dean whispered out, tears crawling their way down his face, "No… please," a loud cough wracked through his body as panic rushed through him, "No… _Dad!!_"

The roar of the fire was so close now that Dean could barely hear his own call, let alone even think that his Dad could have. With a quick plea that his Dad had some how made it out, Dean turned back to where he'd left Sam.

He'd have to do this on his own.

"Sammy," Dean crawled close to ground as the smoke only got thicker; causing his head to pound painfully, "Sammy, say something!"

"Dean," Sam said, followed quickly be a deep cough, "Over here."

Dean made it to his little brother, and clutched his pyjama top, "Sammy… are you ok?"

Sam sniffled, and nodded his head, "Where- where's Dad?"

"I don't know," Dean continued to hold his shirt feebly over his face, "But don't worry, ok? I'm gonna get us out of here."

"The door," Sam looked back to where Dean came from, "Is it too hot?"

"Yeah," Dean swallowed hard, forcing back the fear, and willing himself to live on the adrenaline that pumped through him, "Just wait here again… I'm going to go to the window."

"But we're on the second floor!" Sam cried out, "We can't jump-- we'll get hurt!"

"I'll figure it out Sammy," Dean promised, "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

There was a long pause as Sam realized the same thing Dean had moments ago, "…did Dad get out?"

Dean placed a quick hand on Sam's shoulder, "Dad wouldn't let a fire kill him Sammy… he'll be ok-- and so will we. Just wait here for a second, and keep your face covered!"

Sam nodded, and again Dean took off. This time towards the other side of the room where a large window sat between the two single sized beds. As he stood to his feet to reach the window, dizziness overwhelmed the hunter, and he was forced to grab hold of the ledge of the window to stop himself from falling. The shirt had fallen back to its rightful place, and Dean tried to force himself only to breath when necessarily.

"Come on," Dean muttered, pulling at the rusted latch that held the window shut.

With a large grunt, it finally popped open, a large gust of wind sucking the black smoke out the window, and pulling even more in through under the door. This caught Dean off guard for a moment as the rushing smoke burnt his eyes, and a fit of coughing escaped from not only his mouth, but also from the small boy that still laid on the ground. Dean had turned away from the window, though knew he'd have to go back to push the screen out so that they could escape from the fire which now was licking at the door of the bedroom of which had trapped them in their own personal prison.

"Dean!" Sam cried out.

"Sam, crawl closer!" Dean shouted through the immense noise that had happened at the opening of the window.

The sirens of the fire trucks and ambulances from outside of the hotel could be heard, along with shouts and cries of spectators a safe distance away from the fire. Dean wondered, prayed even, that his Dad was one of those people. That the eldest Winchester had escaped out of the hotel, or that maybe he had left it to go to the car, or go for a walk as he sometimes did during the night.

Anything.

Taking a deep breath of toxic air, Dean turned back towards the window and pushed out the screen. Looking back into the room, Dean noticed two things; one was that the light had now gone out; sending even more darkness into their hideaway, and two-- the bright orange flames which pushed through the door. They didn't have much time left.

"Dean, please," Sam cried from the floor by Dean's feet.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean gagged as he bent down to Sam's level, "Come on-- we gotta get out of here!"

"But we're on the second floor!" tears were falling down Sam's dirty face.

Dean stood up and leaned his head out the window. He could barely see two feet out, though when looking down, he saw an awning which had yet to be consumed by the flames. If he could get the two of them down to that level, then they'd be able to jump without getting hurt too badly. From his vantage point, he could tell the fire had eaten up much of the hotel, and the firemen were having a difficult time controlling it. Added to that, the majority of them seemed to be on the far side of the place-- no one close enough to call for help.

Again Dean looked down at the awning just over six feet bellow them, "Sammy, stand up!"

Sam stood to his feet, clutching onto Dean for support as he coughed into the once blue pillowcase.

"You gotta trust me!" Dean shouted as the fire pushed its way into the room, "I'm going to help you up, and then lower you to the awning bellow us!"

"What about you?" Sam held on even tighter to Dean's sleep pants and t-shirt.

"I'll be right behind you," Dean assured, and then paused in thought, "But if I don't make it Sammy, I want you to jump down from the awning onto the ground, and run to the firemen!"

"Not without you!" Sam sobbed in fear.

"Sammy, listen!" Dean yelled out, trying to be stern in a manner he remembered his father using on him when he'd get scared, "You _need_ to do this."

Sam looked up at Dean through the pillowing smoke, and slowly nodded his head, "O-Ok."

Without hesitation, Dean lifted his little brother up and sat him on the ledge of the window. Pausing a slight moment then, Dean gently kissed the top of young Sammy's head. He wasn't sure if Sam noticed, but if Dean didn't make it out he didn't want the last contact with Sam to be yelling at him. Wordlessly Dean then gripped Sam's hands tightly, and lowered him down the side of the building; Sam whimpering out in fear as he did so. Smoke was puffing out on the first floor, though not as much as the second; giving Dean the impression that the fire had started on the second floor. Reaching as far as his arms would allow him, Dean finally felt Sam touch the awning, and he let go.

"Now you!" Sam cried up.

Dean coughed loudly, followed by a large rush of dizziness that caused him to crash clumsily against the wall by the window. The fire was fully in the room now, having eaten away at the place where Sammy had once been laying on the ground. Horrid memories of the fire that stole their mother away relayed in Dean's mind. He didn't remember much from that night-- only enough to make him fear loosing a family member more than anything else in the world. This thought reminded him again of their Dad, and a small sob escaped the fifteen year old as he though, just for a moment, of laying down and letting the smoke and fire do their job.

"_Dean!!_"

Sam's frantic scream, however, changed Dean's mind and he leaned out the window; thick black smoke preventing him from seeing anything more than a foot in front of him. Again dizziness overwhelmed him, and blackness started to consume his consciousness. It's was Sam's third cry that brought back Dean's will to fight as he pulled himself over the edge of the window and dropped down to the awning bellow.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm to stop him from rolling onto the ground, "Are you ok?!"

Dean coughed loudly in an attempt to get the smoke out of his lungs, "Y-Yeah… c'mon!"

Flames were visible through the window they now sat in front of, and Dean didn't want to chance being around if a back-draft happened. As a positive note, Dean noticed the air was much clearer, and he could easily see the ground another ten feet bellow. Dean, himself was just a few inches short of being six feet, and so knew he could make the jump without being hurt too badly, though the thought of having to lower his brother down again, caused Dean to almost be sick. The smoke continued to wrack through him, and if Dean dropped his little brother too soon, or slipped, then Sam could be seriously hurt-- something he'd never forgive himself for.

Sam stared at Dean; the pillowcase still clutched to his face, "We're gonna go down again?"

Dean glanced hopefully around for a firefighter, or anyone to help, though saw no one, and so gave a feeble nod.

"Yeah," Dean moved quickly then as he grabbed hold of his brother's sweaty hands, "Lets go."

The action was smooth, and to any spectator would appeared as if the brother's had done it a million times. But in seconds, Sam had thumped down to the pavement bellow-- his bare feet solidly on the ground. Not thinking twice, Dean lowered himself down as much as possible, and then dropped-- missing a nearby bush by mere inches.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed hold of Dean in a large hug, "We did it!"

Dean reciprocated the hug; pulling Sam close enough to smell the sickening smoke in his hair. He ran his hand over Sam's back in a soothing motion, and tried to not only stop his little brother's shaking, but his own as well. Dean's own bare feet felt cool against the damp ground, and he closed his eyes in silent thanks that he was able to get them out of the building.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean finally whispered out, "You're ok," he stopped after that comment for a moment, "You are ok, right?"

Dean took a step back, and pulled Sam's face to look up at his. Sam's face was almost unrecognizable through the soot and tears, though his large, dark eyes were the same ones that Dean remembered. Carefully Sam nodded his head, though the deep, hacking cough that followed showed Dean that he wasn't as ok as Sam was claiming. However, the cough that Dean returned, and the pain that coursed through his chest went to show that Dean, as well, was far from ok. Dean was about to make another comment when a shout from behind them caught his attention.

"Hey! There's some kids over there!"

Turning around, Dean saw two firemen come running over to them. A smile spread to Dean's face at the sight of help-- even if they didn't need it anymore.

"Son," the first fireman immediately placed a hand on Dean's dirty shoulder, "Are you alright?"

"We- we made it out," Dean somehow felt that sentence important.

"Alright," the second fireman spoke up as he took Sam's hand, "I'm going to take you two to the ambulance over there-- get you looked over."

"Our Dad!" Sam suddenly cried out as the two brother's were led across the crowded parking lot and grass, "Our Dad was in there too! Please… go help him!"

"Just calm down," the fireman holding his hand stopped; Dean forcing his escort to stop as well, "Your Dad-- is he older looking… with a rough face?"

Dean let out a large grin at the description, "Yeah! Have you seen him?!"

The fireman nodded, "Yes-- he's out of the hotel. He's been frantic looking around for his two boys-- which I'm guessing, are you two?"

"Yes!" Dean's voice got excited as he pushed back yet another cough, "Yes Sir… please-- can we see him? Please, where is he?"

"You can see him, don't worry," the fireman calmed Dean, "But we have to get you to an ambulance first."

Dean quickened their pace to the ambulance where the two brother's were ordered to sit and be looked at. Dean barely paid attention to what the two paramedics were saying, and after hearing that Sammy would be ok, Dean put his full attention on staring out into the crowd of people; waiting for the familiar face of his Dad to appear.

"Here son," the paramedic handed Dean an oxygen mask, "I need you to breath deeply into this."

Dean wordlessly took the device, and placed the plastic over his mouth and nose. Glancing to across from him, Dean saw on the other side of the ambulance Sam sitting there with a similar oxygen mask over his face. Dean could tell by the frightened look on Sam's face that his little brother wasn't going to last too much longer without becoming more upset than Dean cared to see him.

"Can I sit with him please?" Dean asked through the mask at the paramedic-- one of them having already gone back out to the scene, "My brother-- can I sit with him?"

The man glanced at Sam, and then at Dean, "Sure. Listen-- I need to go and see if I'm needed out there for a while. I'll be back in ten minutes-- I need the two of you to stay in here and keep the oxygen masks on. That's very important. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," Dean nodded, and as the paramedic left out the open back of the ambulance, Dean moved to sit beside Sam.

"Dean," Sam whispered out quietly as he leaned into his big brother.

"Shh," Dean held Sam's hand, "It's ok."

"Dad," Sam's voice quivered under the mask, "The fireman. He said that he saw Dad."

"I know Sammy," Dean glanced back out to the crowd of people, "We'll find him."

Almost as if on cue, John's face broke through the people, staring frantically towards the ambulance.

"Dad!" Dean immediately cried out.

"Dean!" John's voice boomed out as he took one giant leap towards the open door.

In one motion, Dean had taken off the mask, and John had stepped into the crowded compartment where the boys sat. Within seconds Dean had his arms wrapped tightly around John, and was crying softly into his strong and protective body.

"Dad--" Dean hiccoughed, grabbing tightly onto his shirt.

"Dean, shh--" John struggled with his own emotions, "Shh…"

"Daddy," Sam whimpered out, new and fresh tears falling down his young face.

"Sammy," John couldn't hide his own tears now as he held out his free arm towards his youngest.

Sam took off his mask as he leapt over to his Dad, grabbing him tightly. For a long while John sat half crouched in the back of the ambulance, one son wrapped in each arm. John leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of both Sam and Dean's head before pulling back to get a better look at them. Both were dirty, and Dean's shirt that was once white was almost completely black now. Sam's face was filthy, and his brown hair was matted to his head.

"Are you boys alright?" John let out a deep quivering breath, "Are you ok?"

Dean nodded, and whipped away the wet from his face, "We're ok Dad. We went out the window."

"Dean lowered me," Sam added in, "He helped save me."

"Good job," John choked out, grabbed hold of Dean again, and leaning his face into his son's smoke filled hair, "Good job Dean."

"How did you get out?" Dean asked through renewed emotions as he continued to lean into his Dad's half embrace, "We didn't know if you got out-- or if you were ok. We were so scared."

"I'm ok," John assured, "I was at the car checking out some papers on a new hunt when I heard the alarm go off," John squeezed his eyes shut, reliving his own horrifying memories, "By the time I got back upstairs it was too late-- there was no way to get to you. God…" John breathed deep, "I'm so glad the two of you made it out."

Sam began to cough again from beside John, and Dean immediately moved back to get a view of his brother.

"The oxygen mask Sam," John grabbed Sam and helped lift him back onto the seat, "You too Dean."

Dean nodded, and replaced his own mask just as coughs overcame his body. For a long while Dean sat on the one side and watched both Sam and his Dad. The mask once again firmly in place, Sam laid curled up on his fathers lap; John relaxing own head against his youngest; his arm wrapped around Sam as he rubbed his arm soothingly. Within minutes, Sam was asleep, and Dean could feel the burning in his lungs lessen.

Outside the ambulance, the fire began to diminish as the firemen did their job. Two of the men stood outside near the Winchester's, and Dean listened with interest to their conversation.

"This is great," the one man spoke up, and Dean could almost hear his smile, "Over two hundred people evacuated-- didn't loose one."

"It was close," the other fireman put in, "Dough got one lady out of a room on the second floor just moments before it collapsed in."

"Did you hear about what happened in the west wing?" the first man's voice rose in excitement, "Some kid-- couldn't have been more then fifteen, rescued his kid brother, helping him down the two stories and to safety."

"I heard," the second laughed in disbelief, "Kids like that-- that's what we need on our force."

§

_Dean walked down the hallway in the fireman suit; Sam in tow. The situation was serious-- far more serious than he would have ever wanted it to be. If their Dad wasn't in one of the rooms down this hallway, everything would be for nothing. All that aside, however, a small smile tugged at Dean's mouth beneath his mask. _

_Finally he spoke as they got to the room and stood in front of the door, a sense of proud remembrance in his voice, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up…"_

The End.


	26. Just Another Thing in Common

_Disclaimer: Oh God, again?! No! _

_A/N: Sorry folks, couldn't do it last night. I got a head cold, and just didn't have the energy to think up a new one shot at my parents last night-- though I'm glad you enjoyed the Fireman one! Thankfully now, I'm at my own place tonight, and so can start digging into my reserve. Speaking of which-- this one shot. It's also kind of another first. I've never writen a tag without A) Being asked to, or B) Waiting many, many months after the episode aired. Though after watching 'Bad Day at Black Rock', I had to write this (though posted well after the episode aired, I did write this one shot the night I saw the episode). I, shamlessly, laughed when Sam was shot at the end of the episode, though did, again shamlessly, want more of the hurt/protect thing. So this came out-- enjoy, and review! _

* * *

_Title: Just Another Thing in Common  
Genre: Is hurt Sam, and protective, worried Dean, a genre?  
Summary: It's set just after 'Bad Day at Black Rock' as Dean helps Sam after he was shot by Bella._

Just Another Thing in Common

Sam had been in the bathroom for over five minutes, and if Dean wasn't still fuming over the forty-five grand he'd just lost he might have worried more. They'd arrived at the hotel at just past midnight after stopping off at a twenty-four hour drug store to pick up more medical supplies. Normally the Winchester's had enough in their car to help them through the bumps and bruises they'd get through hunting, but Sam had been shot, and Dean knew it called for slightly more serious care than a bruised rib or cut up arm.

"Sammy!" Dean called at the partially left open door, "I'm coming in on the count of three if you don't get your ass out here."

Sam was wincing as he walked into the main living area of the small room, and Dean couldn't help but frown. Sam had managed to take off his jacket and outer shirt, though still had on a once-was white undershirt which was now soaked in blood on the left side.

"Getting shot is seriously overrated," Sam groaned walking over to a table where Dean had set up the supplies.

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed, "I still have the scar from when you put a clip into me."

"A clip?" Sam laughed, "It was _one_ bullet… and it wasn't even me."

"Whatever," Dean smirked and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels which he'd been saving and handed it to his brother, "Here-- swig this."

Sam eyed the bottle suspiciously, "Why?"

"Because this is going to hurt like hell," Dean again frowned as he examined the wound. "The bullet didn't go out the back, which means it's still somewhere inside you."

Sam sighed as he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink followed by a gag. He sat on the chair and let Dean cut away at the shirt surrounding the bullet hole.

"You know this is just like you," Dean spoke up with a hint of a laugh in his voice, "Ever since you were little you'd copy me."

Sam laughed and forced himself not to flinch as Dean worked, "Yeah… I guess."

Dean knew he was hurting his brother, so decided to talk as he cleaned away at the wound, "I remember. I couldn't have been more than ten when a shadow ghost knocked me across some random room-- it was the first time I'd broken my arm," Sam's eyes squeezed shut as Dean poured rubbing alcohol over his arm, "Week later you fell of your bike; busted your arm something good. You were happy though-- I remember in the hospital you were the happiest kid there when they said it was broken. You got yourself a cast just like mine."

Sam nodded through the pain, "I remember. Dad-- Dad stopped hunting for almost two weeks to make sure we were ok."

"Yeah," Dean smiled at the fond memory, "It was some of the best weeks I can remember… you know-- aside from the broken arm and the pain in the ass little brother who insisted on wanting to play cast wars."

Sam laughed.

Dean looked at the cleaned area, blood still sliding down the wet arm. He knew what came next, and from his own experience, he knew it was going to hurt Sam a lot. Dean wasn't sure who it would be worse for; Sam… or himself.

"How you doing man?" Dean took a deep breath.

Sam nodded, "Alright. Is it cleaned?"

"Yeah," Dean picked up a pair of sturdy tweezers, "Dude… this is going to hurt. I'm going to take it out now."

Sam took another swig of the Jack Daniels and took a deep breath, "Go for it."

Dean wordlessly nodded, and took his own deep breath before sticking the metal object into his brother. He tried to work quickly, but Sam's sudden hiss of pain caused Dean to flinch.

"Son of a bitch," Sam groaned, his eyes once again squeezed shut as he tightened every muscle in his body.

"Almost got it, almost got it," Dean whispered the reassurance as he felt blindly around for the object which was shot into Sam.

Sam's breath came in small gasps for the longest thirty seconds that he could remember going through. Finally he felt the bullet come out, and Dean's triumphant words broke the silence.

"Got it!" he clinked the bullet into a class of alcohol, "Sorry little brother-- Jo was way better at that than I am."

"No problem," Sam breathed taking another sip from the bottle.

Dean once again began to clean the area as he spoke, "So yeah… next time you want to copy me Sammy. Go for the looks."

"Shut up," Sam laughed as Dean patched up the area with clean gauze, "Are you done butchering my arm yet?"

"Yeah," Dean finished off, "You ok?"

Sam stood to his feet and slowly moved the hurt arm, "Yeah, I'm good."

Sam lay awkwardly that night in bed as he attempted to get some sleep. Dean let him know that they'd take a couple of days off to let Sam's arm get better. More for Dean's sake, Sam knew, as Dean had a habit of worrying incessantly about him. Sam, of course, had gotten used to it, though still had got frustrated after the fifth time asking if he was ok. The younger brother had never been shot before; something the elder had the pleasure of twice. It wasn't that bad, Sam smiled as he fell into a pain-pill induced sleep.

It was just another thing they had in common.

The End.


	27. floor 13

_Disclaimer: abcdefghijklmnpqrstuvwxyz _

_A/N: Wow... all this time, and I finally figure out a new disclaimer that impresses me. Anyways... this stupid, STUPID story... haha... ok, so it's not really stupid. But it's one of my most recent ones that I've writen, and it just **wouldn't end**! By the time I got to writing page eight, I was ready to mass murder everyone in the story to get it done with. But, alas, I continued-- and ended up with this. The story is... well, a sad attempt at scary-- which it's not. But it has entertaining parts in it!  
Now... on with something I haven't done in a long time. My reviews for last chapter... three of them gives --sad face--. So... I will resort to bribery... we all know that's fun. If I can get at least ten reviews (hell, flame me... I'm an actress... haha, I can take it!), I'll continue on 'A Windy Story'. I used to get upwards of 13 reviews before... c'mon people... haha, I've tried bribery... don't make me beg! Thanks, and enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: floor 13  
Genre: I tried to make this scary, but it didn't work... suspesful... and some angst thrown in for good measure.  
Summary: Dean decides to check, much to Sam's unenthusiasim, a supposed haunted room in a hotel. It takes a turn downhill when Dean goes missing, and Sam's in big trouble..._

floor 13

"Seriously dude?" Sam shifted in the passenger seat of the Impala to get a closer look at his brother.

"Why not?" Dean grinned.

Sam laughed at the obvious question, "Dean, all we ever stay in is cheep motels that, if we're lucky, has enough hot water for two people to have a shower. I have yet to see you spend more than fifty dollars on a room. And now you want to go to some posh hotel in the middle of Buffalo that has twenty stories to it _and_ room service?"

Dean shrugged as he maneuvered around the late afternoon traffic, "Why not Sammy? We just got new cards-- why not test them out on something good? We deserve a little pampering."

"Your idea of pampering is eating supper at Pizza Hut, or getting a new oil change," Sam pointed out, "Not a five star hotel."

"If you want to sleep in the car, I'll bring you down the free breakfast in the morning," Dean shot a warning look at Sam.

"Fine," Sam gave in, "I'll play along-- but sooner or later I'll figure out your little game."

Dean laughed as he floored through a yellow light.

-§-

"Room 666 please," Dean grinned at the formally dressed lady standing behind the counter.

The Winchester brothers stood in a large lobby with ruby red carpeting. Tall ferns sitting in marble pots stood in each corner of the space as people walked back and forth from the two stainless steel elevators which sat against the far wall. Bell-boys with red vests and white dress shirts stood around helping the customers move their things, and a long marble counter sat against the opposite wall of the elevators.

The lady in the red vest stared at Dean a moment before stuttering out, "I'm- I'm sorry… what was that Sir?"

"I'd like room 666," Dean stated simply, "That is, unless it's rented out-- which I doubt it is. I read somewhere that you haven't been able to rent out that room in what?-- two years?"

"Dean," Sam hissed from behind his older brother, "What are you doing?"

"Getting us a room Sammy," Dean supplied easily.

"_What_ are you doing?" Sam repeated in a threatening voice.

Dean adjusted the single bag flung over his shoulder as he ignored Sam, and instead turned his attention back to the blond, "Silvia is it?" he glanced at her name printed on a golden tag, "Is there a problem with us renting out that room?"

"No Sir," she whispered, "It's just--" she cleared her throat, "We have plenty of other rooms available for you."

"Yeah Dean," Sam quipped up.

Dean discretely shot his elbow back to which he heard a soft grunt come from Sam. Again he looked towards Silvia with his practiced smile plastered on his face.

"Room 666 sounds great," he spoke heartedly, "I've heard lots about it, and I'm kind of a paranormal buff; want to check out the rumors."

Silvia paused a moment, glancing back at a door behind her reading 'Manager' before turning back to Dean, "Al-Alright Sir. How many days will you need?"

"Just one," Dean glanced at Sam who had on a look which he couldn't decide was pain or annoyance, "My friend and I are just traveling through."

Silvia typed some things into her computer, "Room 666 is a double room, and comes to $350 for the night."

Dean whistled, "Not bad. You accept Master Card?"

Wordlessly Silvia nodded, and took the card from Dean. A few moments, and two glances back at the managers office later, Silvia handed the card back to him along with two keys.

"There you are Mr. Nicholson, it's on the blank floor" she spoke quietly, "Check out time is noon tomorrow. There will be a pamphlet in your room explaining about the continental breakfast and room service. If you have any questions at all, just call the main desk; I'll be here all night to help you."

"Thank you," Dean turned around and walked a few feet before unsurprisingly being stopped by Sam.

"This is a hunt!" Sam whispered out harshly, standing in front of Dean.

Dean laughed, "Loosen up Sammy. It's probably nothing-- I just found some thing on the computer about the room being haunted."

"And you decided to just not tell me?" Sam accused.

"If I had told you, would you have come?" Dean questioned.

Sam thought about this, "Probably not…"

"_See_," Dean interrupted, "That is why I didn't tell you. This way you have no choice… unless you _do_ want to sleep in the car."

"Dean, the only reason I wouldn't have come is because these things are ridiculous, and you know it," Sam had a hand on Dean's shoulder to stop him from moving any further, "These things are made up by the hotels to lour people into the rooms."

"Well they suck at it," Dean stated, "Like I said Sammy-- room's been empty for over two years. Last person that was checked into the place never checked out."

This caught Sam's attention, "You mean he died in there?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "I mean he never checked out. Guy disappeared at some point after checking in. Door guy said he saw him go _up_, but never came down. Cops searched the place, and never found him."

Sam sighed dramatically, "We'll stay the night-- but even if we find nothing, we leave tomorrow."

"Sure," Dean quickly agreed, "Here-- take a key, go grab the bags from the car, and meet me up there."

"Why do I have to bring in the bags?" Sam frowned.

Dean grinned, "Because I'm older."

"I'm bigger," Sam immediately shot back.

"Plus, I think the door guy is checking you out," Dean nodded towards the man in uniform standing by the door.

Sam glared at Dean a few seconds before speaking monotone, "What floor is our room on?"

Dean's eyes sparkled, "Floor thirteen Sammy."

Ten minutes later Sam had collected all of the things from the Impala, and was just closing the trunk when his phone rang.

"Damn it Dean, I'll be up in two minutes," Sam cussed as he struggled to balance the bags and reach into his pocket for the phone.

Looking down, he saw his suspicions true as the name 'Dean' flashed across the screen.

"Sammy," the voice came even before Sam could say a word.

"Dean?" Sam could sense fear in his older brother's voice, "Dean, what's going on?"

"Sam," Dean breathed out, "Don't come up here."

"Dean what happened?" Sam took a step back, and struggled to see up the tall building towards the thirteenth floor, "_Dean!_"

"Sammy… don't…" Dean's voice gasped out before a loud click ended the conversation.

Quicker than thought possible, Sam opened back up the trunk, and shoved everything minus a hand gun filled with silver bullets in the trunk. He ran as fast as he could towards the entrance of the hotel while shoving the gun in the rim of his pants.

"Are you alright Sir?" the door man asked as Sam ran past.

Sam didn't even bother to answer as he rushed to the elevator and smashed his finger into the button with the small arrow pointing upwards. While waiting for the elevator, Sam tried his brother's number on his phone, but got nothing but his voicemail.

"Damn it Dean," Sam's breath caught in his throat as he tried to keep his thoughts in order.

Finally the elevator door dinged open, and Sam walked inside.

"What the hell," Sam frowned staring at the buttons.

All the buttons shone with a number indicating the floor; all except where floor thirteen would be. The button between twelve and fourteen remained blank, and memories from past experiences let Sam know that nearly all apartment buildings and hotels refused to have a thirteenth floor; instead using the cursed floor as a 'pool floor', or where the workers were.

"The 'blank floor'," Sam breathed quietly, pressing down on the button as the words that Silvia spoke finally made sense.

Slowly the elevator made its way up, letting out small dings as it passed each floor. Sam's heartbeat slowly increased as he went so as by the time it got to the thirteenth floor, Sam felt as if he'd run up the stairs.

"Dean?" Sam cautiously called out as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, "Dean, are you here?"

No answer came, and Sam stared to his right and left. Each way was a long hallway carpeted by the same red as the lobby. Doors decorated each side, and Sam took a guess as he walked slowly to his right.

"Redrum," Sam whispered, expecting twin girls to be around the corner, "Hey Dean!"

Glancing at the doors, Sam immediately was put on alert. The doors read different numbers from each other; one being 1287, another 43 and the one at the end of the hall reading 0001. Again Sam took out his phone and pressed to dial his brother's number. He expected no answer, and so halted in his tracks when Dean's voice broke though.

"S-Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam cried out, swinging his head around, "Where the hell are you?!"

"Where are you?" Dean's voice panted back.

"I'm-I'm on floor thirteen," Sam stuttered out, "Dean, _where are you_?"

"I'm in room 666," Dean's voice was quiet, "Sammy, I told you not to come up here."

"Like hell," Sam had immediately began to rush down the halls, his eyes searching for the wanted numbers among the randomness.

"Sam, there's something here," Dean stated, "Something's in the halls-- it left me… it's coming for you."

"What?" Sam stopped, his ears perking for any sound.

"It's coming for you Sammy," Dean whispered out ominously.

"Dean what are you talking about?" Sam felt his whole body shivering.

There was a long pause before Dean answered with three words, "It found you."

"_Ahh!_" Sam screamed out as suddenly everything went dark around him, his phone smashing onto the floor.

Sam crashed hard against the wall behind him, his breath coming in quick gasps. His eyes searched the darkness.

"Sammy…" the voice spoke in a voice Sam didn't recognize.

"No…" Sam whispered out, "No…no, no…"

"…Sammy…"

"Just go," Sam gasped out desperately as he sunk slowly to the ground against the unseen wall behind him, "please… just go…"

A low, ominous laugh vibrated through the walls as suddenly the lights cracked back on causing Sam to jump in surprise.

"Oh my God," Sam swallowed, his eyes wide as he stood to his feet.

Every door around him read 666 in bright red numbers.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam questioned the emptiness, "Dean? _Dean!_"

No reply came to his call as the hunter moved carefully to the first door across from him. The hallways were endless on either side and, while taking out the gun from the rim of his pants, Sam turned the knob of the door. With a slow creak it opened up as, with a deep breath, Sam burst through the entrance with his gun pointed in front if him.

"Oh no," Sam whispered, running his hand over his face and squeezing his eyes closed.

Before him stood identical hallways with the ruby red carpets and endless doors reading the devils number. The lights flickered ominously above him, but refused to go out as once again Sam studied his surroundings.

"Damn it!" Sam cussed loudly as he made his way slowly down the new hallway.

The hallways were endless as Sam inched his way down with his gun in hand. Any sound caused him to jump and halt in his tracks. It wasn't until he'd turned down yet another hallway and saw a new maze of doors reading 666 that he called out for his brother again.

"Dean," his voice, quiet at first, quickly rose with his panic, "_Dean!_" The same low laugh filled the hallway to his right and Sam swung his head around. A gasp escaped the younger brother's mouth as on the ground not ten feet away lay something black.

"Oh God," Sam whispered crouching down to his knees to pick up the item.

It was Dean's phone.

Open as if ripped out of his hands from mid conversation, Sam gazed at the only sign of his brother. Closing it with a soft 'click' sound, Sam stared cautiously at the door which it had been sitting in front of.

"Dean," Sam swallowed hard, and gently knocked on the door, "Hey Dean, answer me man…"

Soundlessly the door opened a small amount, and gripping his gun harder in his right hand, Sam pushed open the door more, taking a tentative step inside. The room looked like a normal hotel room with two double beds sitting against the wall beside the door. An end table with a lit lamp was in between two blackened windows on the far side, and a door leading towards unknown places was on the adjacent wall. All of this was taken in within seconds as Sam's eyes immediately went to the figure standing in the corner of the room. Even with it's back turned to the young hunter, Sam could tell that it was his brother.

"Dean," Sam breathed just as the door slammed shut behind him, "Dean… please talk to me…"

No reply came as Sam walked carefully across the carpeted room, his gun still clutched wearily. He shook as he got close enough to Dean to be able to touch him, and slowly Sam placed a hand on his big brother's shoulder.

"Dean…"

Harshly Dean turned around, his eyes black and a wide smile plastered on his face as he spoke, "_Sammy, I told you not to come up here… something's here… something's in the hall… it's coming for you. It found you._"

"No!" Sam screamed out as he was flung across the room.

With a sickening thud, Sam slid down the wall, his gun having flown further out of reach than he'd have liked. Gasps wracked through his body as the youngest Winchester attempted to catch his breath and keep the room from spinning in front of his eyes. While doing the seemingly impossible task, Sam caught sight of Dean's bag not even a foot away from his face-- something silver shinning from inside it; it was a flask.

"Holy water," Sam smirked, reaching his hand towards the bag.

In an instant Sam was to his feet, and splashed the liquid at Dean.

"Arrrrgggggg!!" Dean screamed out, his back arching in pain as the evil darkness shot out of his mouth and disappeared through a heating vent on the floor.

Dean fell to the ground with a thump as Sam rushed over and fell to his knees; abandoning the flask of holy water on the floor.

"Dean," Sam gasped, grasping hold of Dean's shoulders, "Dean… c'mon man, say something."

Heavy eyelids opened as Dean looked up at the blurred vision of Sam. Confusion washed over him like a thick blanket as the elder Winchester struggled to figure out what happened.

"Dean," Sam repeated, making sure to keep physical contact, "Can you hear me?"

Dean licked his lips, closed his eyes and nodded his head, "Y-Yeah."

Sam took a deep shaking breath, "Thank God…"

Dean groaned as he pulled himself into a sitting position, "Sammy… what happened?"

Sam held sturdy onto Dean's elbow to keep his brother from falling back down, "What do you remember?"

Dean took this time to look around at the room he sat in the middle of. Finally, like a horrible flood, all the memories of everything came back to the older brother, and Dean gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at Sam.

"Easy, easy!" Sam demanded, "Are you alright?"

Dean breathed deep, "Yeah," he looked around some more, "That son of a bitch!"

"Dean, _stop!_" Sam grabbed Dean's arm to stop him from jumping to his feet, "Just sit still for a minute!"

"No, no, no," Dean's eyes were wide, "Sammy we gotta get out of here. We--"

Dean suddenly paused in his half standing position as he stared at Sam. Sam's first instinct was that his brother was hurt, and it wasn't until he felt the warm liquid dripping down his forehead that he knew it was, in fact, the exact opposite.

"Sammy…" Dean was to his feet now.

"Forget it Dean," Sam's voice shone with warning for Dean not to get into the big brother routine, "Not now. I need you clear headed."

"Dude, _you're_ going to be the one with a clear head if you keep fricken bleeding like that!" Dean attempted to get closer to the wound.

"Leave it Dean," anger laced in Sam's voice, "You're the one who insisted on this hunt, and I need you to help get us out of here."

"Ok," Dean gave in, then looked at the entrance, "The door! Let's just get to the elevator and leave."

"It's no use," Sam shook his head, "I just finished wandering around out there-- whatever is trapping us here is doing a good job." he glanced towards one of the windows, "We can try and get out that way though."

The brother's walked to the window, and with a loud grunt, Dean pushed it open and stuck his head out into the night.

"All I can see is darkness."

"Let me see," Sam pulled Dean out and looked.

Everything was black. The ground bellow, directly across; everything was dark, though he could smell the fresh air. Directly outside the window was a ledge less than two feet wide, and straining, Sam managed to see an old fire escape twenty feet to the left.

"There's an escape," Sam's voice shone with excitement as he came fully back into the room, "There's a fire escape about twenty feet out. I'll go over there, and check it out."

"Sam, the ledge is too small!" Dean cried out, "No way in hell am I going to let you go."

"_You_ can't," Sam rationalized, "You were just possessed by a damn demon and then flung unconscious. Don't worry-- I'll be fine."

"Sam!"

But it was too late, Sam was already moving his six foot four frame outside of the window; the cool air blowing on his face. Grasping the brick surface on the outside of the building, Sam managed to pull himself into an upright position with his feet barely staying on the edge. He took a steadying breath before inching his way towards the fire escape.

"Be careful Sammy!" Dean called out urgently as he watched his brother.

"Yeah," Sam clutched the wall for support as he moved.

He was almost there. Sam could see it. Five feet, if that; if he really wanted to, Sam could jump and make it. But he couldn't.

It found him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled out, "look out!"

The same girl that checked them into the hotel an eternity ago now stood on nothing in front of Sam. She wore her bright red vest with a white blouse underneath. Her black pants blended into nothingness as she stared at Sam.

"Silvia," Sam breathed, "It was you."

Silvia smiled a long moment before speaking, "Nice try Sammy."

In one swift movement Silvia grabbed Sam's arms and pulled him. Sam was gone before Dean even knew what happened.

"_Sammy!!_" Dean's voice echoed loudly as he stared dumbly at the spot where Sam once stood.

Nothing was there now.

"God damn it!" Dean shouted struggling to see the ground bellow the window.

Something inside of him told Dean that Sam may have fallen, but never hit the ground. His little brother's scream had disappeared barely before it escaped his mouth, and Dean's heart pounded as he stumbled back in the room.

"He's still alive," Dean breathed, "He has to be… he-he's still alive."

His eyes darted around the room for any answer; finally landing on a single piece of paper sitting on one of the two beds. His legs were rubber as Dean walked over slowly and picked it up, reading it carefully;

_Buffalo Heights Hotel_

_Continental Breakfast every morning at  
7:30am  
Room service available.  
For any help or assistance please call me at the front desk.  
There will be someone there in all hours of the night._

"The front desk," Dean held the piece of paper, "…Silvia."

Sitting neatly between the two beds was a small wooden end table with an older looking phone sitting on it. Moving as if in a trance, Dean picked up the receiver and pressed the small red button for the lobby desk.

"Front desk, how may I help you Dean?" Silvia's voice iced through.

Dean breathed deep to control his emotions, "Where's my brother?"

"I can't help you," Silvia's spoke carefully, "I'm sorry."

"No," Dean stood to his feet, "No… you _can't_ do this to me lady. Tell me… tell me what I have to do."

There was a long pause, "All complaints regarding your stay will be directly transferred to the manager."

"The manager?" Dean's voice was quiet as realization struck him, "Hey… why did you keep looking over at the managers office when I was down there?"

"I'm sorry Sir, I can't--"

"_Answer me!_" Dean yelled loudly, ignoring any will to keep calm.

"Don't," Silvia's voice had gone from cold to scared in a matter of seconds, "Don't… go in the bathroom."

Dean hung up the phone without saying another word and looked towards the door on the far wall. There was only two in the room; one leading to the useless hallways, and one that neither Winchester had yet to open. Slowly Dean walked to the door, grabbing Sam's abandoned gun as he went. Not wasting time to be nervous, the hunter then opened the door and stepped into darkness.

Almost immediately, light illuminated from a single bulb in the center of the room, and Dean found that he was no longer in a bathroom, never mind room 666. It was some sort of supply closet with shelves and storage buckets with brooms and mops scattered about. But it was the body hanging from a rope in the middle of the room that held Dean's attention. The body was immediately recognized.

"Silvia," Dean took a step closer to her hanging corpse.

"He did it," Dean swiveled around to see Silvia standing behind him, "The manager."

Dean frowned, "He did what?"

Silvia smiled, "He's the one who told me to come up here. Said that he wanted to talk to me… that it was important. So I came up here, just like he said. But then… he wanted me to join his club."

"What club?" Dean stared intently, hoping against anything that somehow this would all lead him to his brother.

"All of the girls that worked here had to sleep with Roger," Silvia explained, "It was a requirement. But I refused for nearly a year before he got me up here. He tried… he really did. But," Silvia pulled out a screwdriver and Dean took a tentative step backwards, "…but I got him first. Then I did this."

"You killed yourself?" Dean questioned carefully.

Silvia studied Dean for a moment, "Would you be able to live with yourself if you killed someone?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean finally asked.

"I couldn't leave," anger suddenly was plastered on Silvia's face, "I was alive, but I couldn't leave from here. As soon as I did, someone would know I killed him-- someone would know what I did," she paused and looked at Dean, "And now you know."

"It wasn't your fault," Dean immediately pointed out, "The guy was trying to rape you-- you were defending yourself. That isn't your fault."

Silvia shook her head, "They'll never see it that way."

"They would. You just-- you have to let people leave when they come here," Dean stated desperately, "You can leave-- this guy-- whoever he is, is gone. You got rid of him. And I get it, he was a mean son of a bitch who deserved a lot worse; I don't blame you for that. No one would. But keeping innocent people trapped up here; killing them. _That_ is what makes me want to put a clip into you right now."

Dean watched the spirit of Silvia as she thought before speaking, "Roger would have never let me leave."

"I'm not Roger!" Dean's emotions were quickly sneaking back up on him, "Just go, and I swear I won't hunt your ass down. Just leave, and quit doing this to people."

It was another long moment before Silvia spoke softly, "Your brother will be alright."

Instantly she disappeared before Dean could say a word. Carefully the elder brother looked at his surroundings, his heart thumping in his chest. The body was no longer hanging from the ceiling and the door leading out of the storage closet was ajar.

"Come on," Dean whispered the plea as he stepped outside.

Red carpet welcomed him as Dean stared up and down the hallway wearily. Glancing back at the door which he'd just walked out of, Dean read the small letters and numbers reading '6-66: Floor Storage'. Thoughts whirled through Dean's mind, and he was just about to question whether it was over when a small girl ran up to him.

"Neat mister!" she cried out, "Is that real?"

Dean wasn't sure what she was talking about and it wasn't until he noticed her eyeing the gun still in his hand that he was brought back to reality.

"Umm, no," Dean smiled, seeing the girls mother walking over, "Just-just a water pistol," then added for effect, "Guns are bad."

"Samantha!" the mother scolded, "What did I tell you about talking to strangers?"

"Sorry," the girl slunk off, and Dean's eyes widened in horror.

"_Sammy_," Dean gasped. Never before had Dean moved so fast as he found a door with the word 'exit' overtop of it in glowing red letters. His phone was missing, and Dean had no clue as to where Sam was; Silvia had said he was ok, but the hunter knew better than to trust a spirit. He also knew that his Dad's old cell phone was in the car, and so if he could get there, he could try and phone Sam.

Dean was vaguely aware of the fact that a lady looking nothing like Silvia now stood behind the counter, though knew better than to question this as he rushed past the doorman and out of the hotel. The walk to the car was done quickly and soon Dean found himself halted in his tracks as he spotted none other than Sam standing to his feet outside of the black car.

"Sammy!" Dean called out and ran over.

"Dean!" Sam echoed his brother's cry.

Dean's eyes were wide as he grabbed Sam's arm as if to make sure he was real.

"Sam…" Dean's voice was hoarse, "Did you…"

"Yeah," Sam breathed.

"Are you…"

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

"Oh my God," Dean whispered out taking a step towards the car and resting the top half of his body on the roof in relief.

Sam walked over, "Are you alright Dean?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I'm good."

"Did she do anything to you?" his brother questioned.

Dean shook his head and turned towards Sam, "No-- you, on the other hand Peter Pan… are you sure you're not hurt?"

Sam held out his arms to show, "Not a scratch. I don't remember much though-- I mean after she pushed me. Next thing I knew I was laying by the car, and then saw you coming. Is she-- gone?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, it's all good."

Sam decided not to question what happened, but instead just stayed thankful that the two of them got out without any serious injuries.

"What do you want to do now?" Sam asked after a moment of collective silence.

Dean eyed the mixture of blood and bruising that was collecting on Sam's forehead, "We need to get you cleaned up for one. So come on," Dean grinned, "I know where there's a motel just outside of town."

The End.


	28. First Hunt

_Disclaimer: ...no... _

_A/N: I have just had one of the worst days ever, so am not going to say too much. You all made me happy though-- seven reviews, plus one e-mailed to me. Added to that, a bunch of you posted 'multiple' reviews in one chapter. So--- yes... within the next couple of days-- at most a week-- I will continue to post on 'A Windy Story'-- I hope you'll still post on these one shots though. If not... that's ok. I'm going now-- enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: First Hunt  
Genre: Mildly suspensful, and angsty.  
Summary: A small tale of Sam's first hunt with John and Dean._

First Hunt

"Rules."

"_Dad_," Sam groaned loudly, "We don't need to go over them again."

"We do if you want to come with us," John spoke sternly as Dean snickered behind him.

Ten year old Sam wanted to punch his brother, and would have if their Dad wasn't around. But instead he took a deep breath to calm himself and looked intently at John.

"Rules," John repeated, "You are not to use the gun at all on this hunt. You are not to leave your brothers sight for even one minute. At the first sign of any trouble that you don't think you can handle, you are to leave and come find me," John glanced back at the fifteen year old, "That means you too."

"Yes Sir," Dean responded obediently.

"Alright," John nodded, "Both of you get in the car."

Sam walked by Dean, smacking him in the stomach as he went. Dean muttered a cuss word under his breath at his little brother and hopped in the front seat. Sam got into the back seat and let his heart beat slowly quicken as their Dad drove to the abandoned farm just outside of the town. It was Sam's first hunt that he was allowed to go on, and though his Dad had been preparing him for years, he was still nervous. Dean had been hunting since Sam could remember, and the younger brother had always been jealous.

He wasn't anymore.

"Alright," John spoke up all too soon as he pulled the car into an old, dusty lot, "We're here."

Dean eagerly got out of the car, followed by John. Sam, however, hesitated a moment before pushing open the door of the Impala.

Immediately John went to the back trunk and began to pull things out as he talked, "It sounds like a simple enough case here. There was a man that hanged himself in the barn at the back of the field, and now his spirit is scaring the animals around here."

"Dad, why are we doing this in the dark?" Sam asked, looking around at the quickly darkening sky.

"Scared Sammy?" Dean teased.

"Dean…" John spoke the one word warning before turning his attention to his youngest, "We're going at night because spirits come out more at certain times of the day. And this one likes the night time. Don't worry-- everyone will have a flashlight."

At this John started to hand out weapons, turning first to Dean with a small barrel shotgun, "Keep the safety on until you see something. And for God sake, watch out for your brother with it."

"I know," Dean took the gun, "Rock salt?"

"Yes," John nodded, handing a flashlight to Dean.

"Sammy," John pulled out a small bladed machete, "You remember the training with this-- I want you to be careful. If the thing appears, let Dean get it with the rock salt. Last resort is you using this. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," Sam took the weapon from his Dad, followed by another flashlight.

"Do any of you have any questions?" John asked, taking his own weapon and light from the trunk before slamming it shut.

"No Sir," the brothers answered in unison.

Their Dad had spent hours the night before going over all of the details of the case and what it was they were supposed to do. John was right-- it did seem like and easy hunt.

So they thought.

"Alright, we'll split up. Meet back at the car in half an hour," John nodded, "And be _careful_."

Dean paused, "You too Dad."

John smiled and silently walked off, leaving Sam and Dean in the still quiet.

"Do you and Dad always split up?" Sam asked as they walked slowly across the field.

"Sometimes," Dean nodded, "If the hunt is an easy one like this we'll split up. But if it's a harder one, or a case where we don't really know what the thing is, we'll stick together."

"We'll be ok though, right?" Sam asked, panning the flashlight out onto the grass field; the sun had completely sunk into the horizon by this time.

Dean grinned, "We'll be fine Sammy. Just stick with me, and stay quiet."

Wordlessly Sam nodded his head, and they made their way further in. Everything was quiet for the next ten minutes, and Dean was fully convinced that perhaps their Dad had found the spirit, and was going to suggest they head back when a noise suddenly came from their left.

"What was that?" Sam's voice quivered out.

"Behind me Sammy," Dean ordered and pointed the gun out to their left, carefully unhinging the safety.

A large, gutted house sat to their left with nearly every window smashed out of it. The moonlight splashed against the paint peeled sides, and a broken off door stared ominously at the two brothers. Again a loud banging noise came from the inside.

"Dean…" Sam whispered out.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean felt his own heart beat quickening, "Come on. Stay behind me, and keep your eyes open."

Sam nodded, and gripped his weapon tighter. Slowly Dean made his way into the house, looking around once inside. Everything was gutted out, and the whole place looked like the inside of a barn with random rafters hanging down, and debris strewn around everywhere.

"Come on you bastard, I know you're in here," Dean whispered out, spinning in a slow circle.

Adrenaline pumped through Dean as he made a full circle and a half to face his brother. He was about to say something when suddenly the older brother's gun was ripped out of his hand, and his body was flung harshly against the wall of the old building.

"Dean!" Sam cried out.

"_Sam, run!_" Dean yelled out.

Sam stared, eyes wide, as the image of a large man wearing overalls appeared in front of Dean, who remained crumpled on the floor. It held a rope tightly in its hands and took a large step towards Dean. Sam, in turn, took a step towards it.

"Sam go!" Dean ordered out desperately as he backed himself into the wall further.

Sam took a deep breath to muster up his courage before yelling to the angered spirit, "Hey you!"

The thing turned around, and Sam swung the machete straight through its head. Silence suddenly enveloped the house as the spirit disappeared.

"Dean," Sam's voice quivered out.

"Sammy," Dean smiled and panned his light up towards his little brother.

No sooner had he done this, than the angered spirit reappeared, and this time threw young Sam across the room, and into a pile of rubble against the far end.

"_Sammy!_" Dean called out, and picked up his gun.

Without hesitating Dean shot two quick rounds through the thing, which let out a loud yell and burst into nothingness. Once again leaving the Winchester's in silence.

"Sammy!" Dean's panicked voice erupted out as he dashed over to where Sam lay on the ground.

Sam sat up suddenly, breathing hard, "Dean… is it gone?"

Dean fell down to his knees in front of Sam, "Just… sit for a second while I check you out Sammy."

Sam's heart beat furiously in his chest, his eyes darting around the empty room as Dean investigated the condition his little brother was in.

"What hurts?" Dean asked urgently.

"Nothing," Sam shook his head, "Is it gone Dean?"

"Yeah, it's gone," Dean confirmed, "But you got the wind knocked out of you kid. I have to make sure you're ok."

"I'm ok," Sam looked at Dean, "But--" Sam's voice suddenly quivered out in fear, "Dean, your head is bleeding."

Dean's hand moved up to his forehead, wincing in pain as he felt a slight bump and warm blood, "It's ok Sammy, I didn't hit it that hard. Can you stand up?"

Sam nodded his head, and Dean got up to extend a hand. Sam gratefully accepted the help, and groaned at the pain as he got to his feet.

"You alright?" Dean immediately asked, panning his flashlight once again on Sam.

"My arm," Sam's voice came out quiet as he looked down at his arm.

"Oh God…" Dean breathed looking at Sam's arm.

A cut ran along the upper arm of the younger brother which bleed steadily. For a moment Dean stared at the injury before finally letting loose in a low laugh.

"What's so funny Dean?" Sam frowned at his brother.

Dean grinned, "Man, this is your first hunt, and you saved my ass, _and_ got your first battle scar. Not bad Sammy."

Sam smiled, "It's not so hard."

Dean shook his head, "Come on-- lets go find Dad."

Sam agreed as the two of them walked out into the moonlight splashed field. The walk back was quicker paced, and soon the Impala came into view; John waiting by the hood of the vehicle.

"Dad!" Dean called out.

"Dad!" Sam echoed, "Guess what!"

John's eyes slowly widened as his boys, and their injuries, came more into focus.

"We caught it!" Sam called out triumphantly.

"Dean…" John's voice was hoarse as the family met up, "What happened?"

Dean smiled, "Sammy and I got it."

John tilted Dean's head downwards and shinned his flashlight on the wound, "It looks like it almost got you two."

"Yeah…" Dean nervously nodded.

John caught sight of Sam's arm and immediately went to the car to grab some first aid materials. Returning, he grabbed a large piece of gauze and held it against Sam's arm.

"Are you boys ok?" John questioned, and turned towards Dean, "Other than Sammy's arm, and your head-- are you hurt?"

"I'm not," Dean shook his head negatively.

"Sammy?" John apprehensively looked at his youngest, "Are you alright?"

"I'm ok Dad," Sam insisted.

"What happened?" John asked, turning his attention onto Dean's forehead.

"The thing caught us off guard Dad, I'm sorry," Dean apologized, "It threw me against the wall, knocking the shot gun out of my hand. Then," a smile came to Dean's face, "-- then Sam hit it with the machete. It disappeared for just long enough for me to get the gun back, then it flung Sammy. I caught it with two rounds of rock salt."

"It was the farmer?" John wanted to know.

"Yes Sir," Dean winced as an alcohol swab was rubbed over the open soar.

"Alright, I can burn the bones tomorrow," John nodded, then paused before looking at his youngest, "Sammy, do you think you're ready to start hunting regularly with your brother and I?"

"Yeah," Sam pressed the cloth against his arm.

"What do you think Dean?" John questioned.

"Are you kidding Dad?" Dean grinned, and looked affectionately at his little brother, "Sam's going to turn out to be one of the best hunters around."

The End.


	29. Sometimes A Little Time Helps

_Disclaimer: Dude... do I have to dignify this with an answer? 'Cause I kindda lost my dignity when I bought Oscar the Grouch boxers..._

_A/N: This is awesome guys! Thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry-- no update yesterday... my bad day kind of carried on. But it's much better now! I got away for the weekend, spent some money on myself, and ate some chocolate. On the plus side-- from my bad few days-- I did get a story idea. And this one shot is it. I'm at my parents place for the weekend, so this is another one of those stories that I just wrote up on the spot. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

_Title: Sometimes A Little Time Helps  
Genre: It's a little angsty, but not really... a little fluffy too... wow, does this story fit a genre?  
Summary: Dean snaps at Sam after having more than one bad day. Upset and angry, Dean meets a girl at a bar who lets him know that sometimes time is all you need._

Sometimes A Little Time Helps

"Sam, we've had this same fricken argument for the past two days!" Dean yelled loudly enough to cause his throat to scratch painfully.

"Then you'd think you'd learn!" Sam shot back just as fiercely, "The answer is _no!_"

Dean took a deep, shaking breath. He wanted nothing more than to grab his brother and shake the living daylights out of him. For two days they'd had this argument; for two days Dean's mood had been sinking and sinking until it took just the slightest wrong doing to spark his temper. This time it had been Sam accidentally spilling a cup of coffee on the floor. One thing lead to another, and soon the two brother's were arguing again about the original disagreement.

Dean wanted to buy some new guns from a dealer in town, and Sam didn't.

The argument was stupid, and Dean would have dropped it easily two days ago if it weren't for the Winchester stubbornness that flowed not only through his blood, but Sam's as well. That and the fact that Dean found himself getting more and more upset or angry by anything, and would always find a way to blame it on Sam, or to bring it back to the useless argument that deep down he agreed with Sam on.

"Sam--!" Dean started, but was quickly interrupted by his hot tempered brother.

"Don't you dare Sam me!" Sam shouted, taking an intimidating step forwards.

"I will say whatever the hell I want," Dean's voice suddenly dropped deathly quiet, "And if you have a problem with that… try and stop me."

Sam stared at Dean a moment, not sure whether to take the threat seriously or not. Suddenly Dean turned towards the chair, grabbed his jacket from it and swung it on.

"Dean--" Sam's voice still bared anger as he touched Dean's arm, intent on not wanting the argument to end.

"Leave it Sam!" Dean's voice roared once more as he shoved Sam back harshly.

Leaving quickly through the door, Dean heard Sam smash into something from his blow, though Dean refused to look back. Refused to acknowledge the fact that he may have hurt his brother in anyway, and instead got in his sleek black car and pointed it towards the nearest bar, wishing he'd smacked Sam even harder.

-§-

"Mary?" Dean stared intently at his drink, "I knew a Mary once."

"Really?" the brown hair, brown eyed lady sitting beside the eldest Winchester spoke with a soft English accent, "Was she as beautiful as I am?"

Dean downed the last sip of his third drink, "More so."

"I beg your pardon!" Mary stood abruptly to her feet.

Dean looked over and smiled, "She was my Mom."

"Oh, ok, " this seemed to settle Mary down as she once again took up company beside Dean, "Your Mum. You said knew… is she gone?"

Dean smirked at the effect alcohol had on people, forcing out blunt, and otherwise inappropriate questions. This didn't stop Dean, loose tongued by his own rye and coke, from responding.

"Yeah," he motioned to the bar tender for another drink, "When I was four, there was a fire."

"Oh no!" Mary looked genuinely sympathetic, "That's horrible."

Dean nodded in agreement as the bartender wordlessly dropped another glass in front of him, "My Dad, brother and I got out, but… not Mom."

"Well that's alright," Mary spoke, before quickly adding, "I mean… at least you still have your Dad and brother."

Dean shook his head, taking a large gulp of his fresh drink, "Dad died last year."

Drunkenness brought about blunt statements all right.

Mary was silent for a long moment, and Dean knew the next question she was about to ask, and knew she was scared to, "…your… brother?"

"Still a pain in the ass," Dean took a deep breath, and closed his eyes-- the argument all too fresh in his mind.

Mary smiled widely, "Well that's good! My brother was my best mate growing up."

"Yeah," Dean spun the green straw sticking out of the drink, "Sam and I were pretty close growing up," another sip of the drink burnt down his throat, "He was the one person I could always count on… even if I thought I was alone."

"You don't sound too happy," Mary finished off her own umpteenth drink, and motioned for another.

"No," Dean agreed, "We had a fight… well… a few of them. That's sort of why I'm here right now."

Mary nodded before stating, "Well it can't be that bad then."

This confused Dean, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're here drinking about some fight you had with your brother, than you can't be too terribly mad at him," Mary drunkenly rationalized, "If you were really cross with him, then you'd be tearing him a bloody new one right now."

Dean laughed, "Yeah. I already did that to him."

"So?" Mary pulled back half her drink in one gulp, "If you were truly as upset as you think you are, then you'd still be at it. But because you're here-- it can't be that bad."

Again Dean thought about this before mumbling quietly, "It wasn't his fault."

"See," Mary smiled triumphantly, "What was the fight about?"

"Something stupid," Dean shrugged, still playing with the straw in his cup, "And he was right. But..."

"But you were an ass," Mary nodded knowingly, then at Dean's fierce and shocked look quickly continued, "I mean… it's not a bad thing to be an ass. Well… sometimes. If you're not an ass once in a while, how does someone know when you've done something really incredible?"

"But I haven't done anything incredible," Dean found himself sobering up quickly, "I've just been… a complete ass towards Sammy. He didn't deserve it-- all he was doing was looking out for us… for me."

"He's younger, isn't he?" Mary was studying Dean heavily through glazed eyes.

"How'd you know?"

"Well if he were older, you wouldn't be quite so upset about this," Mary rationalized out, "The older brother is supposed to do the looking out. He's supposed to be the protector, not the protected. So naturally if it was turned around, you'd feel intimidated, which would make you angry, which would make you resentful towards your brother… which would cause you even more pain. All ending with your drinking away your troubles and woes at some random bar which you've never been to before."

Dean stared, somewhat shocked at Mary for a moment, "What the hell are you drinking?"

Mary grinned a pristine smile, "He's still your brother. Whether he needs you, or you need him. If he makes you cross, that just means that it's working."

Dean played along, "That what's working?"

"The bond," Mary paused a moment, "When my brother was fifteen, he decided to run away from home. Mum was so worried, as was I. When we finally found him at some old abandoned house, you would have though my first instinct would to be to hug him; make sure he was alright. But no-- I slugged him so hard, we ended up sitting in the hospital for two hours, him with a broken nose, and myself with a broken finger. Later we apologized to each other, talked for a couple of hours over some drinks, and laughed about the whole thing."

Dean laughed at this story, and rubbed his hand over his face, "Why did he leave?"

"He said he needed time," Mary shrugged, taking another large sip of her drink, "He told me that he needed to get away from everything-- all the stress of his life. I guess it worked."

Dean stared down at his nearly full drink, "You're lucky to be so close with your brother."

"I know," Mary nodded, her voice suddenly soft and quiet, "He was my best mate right up until the night he was hit by that car."

Dean wordlessly stared at her.

Mary smiled, "Don't stay mad Dean. It's not all that bad."

Dean nodded through the sudden arrival of a lump in his throat, "Thanks."

-§-

Careful manoeuvring, and even more careful driving got Dean and his car back to the hotel in one piece. He would never admit it to Sam, and Dean wasn't sure if it was because of what Mary told him, or the alcohol which still pumped through his body, but the whole slow drive back, silent tears had marked their path down his unshaven face. All evidence was wiped away as Dean pulled up in front of the hotel room; mildly curious as to the fact that the lights were still all on. Again Mary's words thumped in Dean mind as the hunter went to the trunk of the car and opened it up. Inside was the weapons which he'd memorized, and a few random papers, and files. Stored to the side of the trunk, however, was what Dean was looking for, and he pulled out a case of beer stashed and forgotten about. He walked towards the door, the muffled sound of the television seeping through.

Dean opened the door up and looked over. Sam was laying against the headrest of his bed, and was watching a George Forman infomercial which both brothers had memorized. Wordlessly Dean walked over to his own bed, sat the beer on the end table near the lamp, and pulled out two bottles. Finally making eye contact, Dean looked over at Sam, and held out a bottle. A smile touched Sam's lips as he turned off the TV, and accepted the beer.

"Sammy…" words were anything but easy to come by for Dean.

Sam smiled fully now as he opened his beer, "…I know… me too."

The End.


	30. I'll Be There For You

_Disclaimer: the monster fighting magician says no. _

_A/N: Howdy. Haha, I see you weren't too fond of the one shot the other night-- oh well... I was bored in GP, and that's what came out. Tonight's one is a story that I wrote quite a while ago, and is a WeeChester story. I've said it many times-- I love to write with John, and also the relationship he had with Dean. And I guess now is also an ok time to mention something-- the person that gives me my 300th review... haha... gets something special. Though I don't think it'll happen this one shot, but keep it in mind. Enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: I'll Be There For You  
Genre: Angsty!  
Summary: Fights and arguments are happening to all the Winchesters, but it isn't until nine year old Sammy goes missing at past midnight that they realize what really matters._

I'll Be There For You

"I don't have to listen to you _John_," immediately after Dean let the words leave his mouth, he knew he was in for it.

"You know what Dean," John's voice was surprisingly calm, "You just turned fourteen years old. If you think you know better than me, you can leave, and take care of yourself."

Dean stared a moment at his father. The two rarely had arguments-- at least not like his Dad and Sammy did. His little brother, from the time he was five, wanted to be independent, and do his own thing. When John got wind of this 'phase', he'd put up an argument that'd keep the neighbours up at night-- the two would butt heads, yell, and once Sammy even threw a glass plate against the wall. With Dean, however, John argued differently. His words were quiet, and definite, leaving little room for Dean to argue back.

"Dad," Dean's voice matched his fathers, "I just want to go see a movie with my friends."

"And I said I need you to stay here," John explained, "Sammy will be home either tonight or tomorrow morning, and I have to go away until Monday morning-- that's two days."

Dean rolled his eyes at his Dad's dumbing down, "Dad, Sammy is nine years old; almost ten. I'm pretty sure he'll be ok on his own _if_ he comes back tonight. I just--"

"No." John stated, and walked out of the room, ending the conversation.

Dean sighed loudly and aggravated as he walked into his own room, making a point of slamming his door loudly. He hated his Dad at that moment-- truly hated him. The young teenager's feet paced back and forth across the gross yellow carpet as he breathed deep, willing the tears not to come.

"He never lets me do anything," Dean fumed to himself, "All I ever do is watch Sammy, get ready to watch Sammy, or do some _stupid_ thing for Dad's hunt. He doesn't even let me hunt! Ok, _once_ he did-- but all it was, was a fricken spirit on some random farm."

Dean's face began to turn red, and he felt a painful lump form in his throat. It hurt both inside and out, and Dean's anger towards his Dad intensified.

"_Dad!_" Dean shouted out, stepping out of his room, "_Dad!!_"

John walked out and met Dean in the hallway.

"What?" John's face reflected that of anger, and Dean knew that this conversation wasn't going to go well.

"Take me with you," Dean's question came as a statement that surprised even himself.

"What?" it apparently surprised John as well.

"Take me with you!" Dean repeated louder, "I deserve to go too! You always talk about this thing that killed Mom, and how we have to kill all the evil things in the world, and you _never_ let me help you at all."

"Dean, I don't have time for this--" John started.

"_Mom_ would have had time!" Dean shot out the words without even thinking.

John swallowed hard, "Well your Mom's not here right now, and if you had _any_ respect, Dean Jonathan Winchester, you would keep your _mouth_ shut, and do your job."

Only three times in his life could Dean remember his middle name being used. Once was a sweet memory; his Mom. He was four, and asked what his middle name was-- curious as Sammy had just come into the world with one. His Mom explained that it was Jonathan; after his Daddy. The other two memories were worse… much worse. When Dean was nine, he found one of John's guns and was showing it to five year old Sammy-- it seemed like an instant that his name was screamed and he was sitting in his room with a red bottom. The other time was when Dean was twelve, and he had tried to help during a hunt by climbing onto the roof a large house to set a trap. John wasn't too happy about that one.

This time was different though. John hadn't yelled-- he didn't even raise his voice. And it was _that_ that scared Dean more than he cared to admit.

"No Dad," Dean shook his head, "No Dad, you can't do that to me anymore. You can't intimidate me-- I'm an adult now."

"You're fourteen!" John barked out, "When you start acting like an adult, I will start treating you like one."

"I do!" was all Dean could think to retort, his hands going to his hips.

"Dean," John closed his eyes, "I don't have time for this," he repeated, and walked out into the living room where a large duffle bag was sitting, "I have to leave-- we can discuss this more when I get back."

"Maybe I won't be here when you get back!" Dean yelled out desperately as John opened up the front door, "Maybe I'll go back to Kansas!"

"Dean, _please_!" John was really getting angry now, "Just grow up!"

At that the elder Winchester slammed the door shut, and Dean was left standing alone in the run down, rented house. His heart pounding in his chest, he replayed, by far, the worst argument he'd ever had with his Dad. And why-- because Dean couldn't go to a stupid movie. It seemed like hours the older Winchester child stared at the shut door, thought realistically it was merely five minutes. He would have looked longer if it hadn't been for the ringing of the phone, causing him to jump.

"What time is it?" Dean frowned glancing at the clock; a quarter to midnight, Dean picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Is this John Winchester?" the voice sounded urgent and was that of a female.

"No," Dean shook his head despite being on the phone, "This is Dean, his son. My Dad is gone for the weekend."

"Oh Dean," the voice still hadn't lost it's urgency, "This is Mrs. Ash."

"Hi Mrs. Ash," Dean felt a cold feeling fill the pit of his stomach; Mrs. Ash was Jackie's Mom-- the friend who Sam was staying with until the next morning, "What's going on?"

"Dean, Sammy left," Mrs. Ash's voice shook slightly.

"What?!" Dean cried out, his mind flashing the long distance it was to Jackie's place, "What do you mean?"

"Jackie told me a few minutes ago that around an hour ago Sammy and him got into a fight," Mrs. Ash explained quickly, "And then Sammy said he was going home, and left."

"He doesn't know the way!" Dean panicked, "It's nearly four miles, and it's almost midnight."

"I know. I'm going to take my car out right away-- if you can get a hold of your Dad to look, that would be great," Mrs. Ash spoke.

"Ok," Dean breathed, "Ok-- please look."

Without even waiting for a reply, Dean hung up and ran into his room. His heart was pounding like he couldn't remember it ever doing before, and his eyes scanned the room. His brain refused to work, and Dean found himself having to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm down.

"Maybe Sammy is ok, and is just walking here," Dean whispered to himself, "He has to be ok."

His brain decided to work then, and he lunged towards his dresser, throwing open the top drawer. Grabbing a flashlight, and then his jacket sitting on the bed, Dean raced into the living room. He was about to leave out the door when he saw the phone sitting on the small end table.

"Dad," Dean swallowed.

He knew John carried his cell phone when he went out on a hunt-- in case of emergencies. And despite the anger that still boiled inside of him, he knew his Dad needed to know about this. He needed his help.

Dean dialled the numbers that he'd had memorized since his Dad bought the phone.

John answered after two short rings, "Dean, what's wrong?"

"D-Dad," Dean was startled by his shaking voice, "h-he… Sammy-- Dad, he--"

"Dean, take a deep breath." John ordered.

Dean did so before speaking again, "Dad, Sammy is missing."

"What?" John's voice heightened in worry, "What do you mean he's missing? Sammy is at his friend Jackie's for the night."

"No," the phone shook in Dean's hand, "Mrs. Ash just called me: Sammy and Jackie had a fight about an hour ago, and Sammy just left. Dad, I'm going to go look for him."

"Dean, n--" John stopped, "Alright Dean, go. Just leave a note in case Sammy comes back. I'll take the car and circle around the root."

"Ok, thanks Dad," Dean smiled to himself, "Mrs. Ash is also going to go out and look."

"Be back by one thirty at the house," John's calm voice reassured Dean, "I'll meet you there then."

"Ok Sir," Dean tried to mimic his Dad's calmness, "Bye."

"Be careful Dean," John warned, "And don't worry-- everything will be ok."

A small click on the other end let Dean know to hang up the phone. His body worked in fast forward after that as he grabbed his watch off the couch and wrote a quick note on a piece of paper: '_Sammy, if you get back before me or Dad, just wait-- please_.'. After that Dean pasted it to the door with a large piece of tape and left; flashlight in hand.

"_Sammy!!_" Dean hadn't even gotten a block before he started calling out his baby brothers name, "_Sammy!_"

Dean found himself running down the block, his flashlight shooting everywhere. His chest hurt, but he refused to stop; hoping that each time he yelled out his brothers name, he'd hear a reply. By the time he reached the park halfway to Jackie's, he would have settled with the sarcastic responses that Sammy was getting into lately.

"_I'm fine Dean, why do you have to be such a baby?_"

A small smile touched Dean's lips at the reply that Sammy would no doubt give if he knew that Dean was running down the street at past midnight looking for him. By the time Dean got to Jackie's house, however, Dean was starting to get angry.

"Damn it Sammy!" Dean's voice broke as he yelled out, "Why the hell did you do this!?"

The porch light was on at Jackie's, and Dean ran up them two at a time. Similar to their place, Dean found a note on the door.

'_Sammy-- we've gone out looking for you. Please go inside, and call me at 572-0119, and don't go anywhere. -Mrs. Ash_'

With little hope inside, Dean banged on the door, praying that Sam's sheepish face would appear. It didn't, and feeling the warm tears come back down his face, Dean headed back down the steps, and back down the block. His pace was slower now, as a stitch had formed painfully in his side, though he still called loudly, shinning the flashlight into yards.

"_Sammy!_" Dean's voice was raw and hoarse, "_Sammy, please answer me!_"

There was no answer, and Dean felt the familiar sinking feeling form in his stomach. He glanced at his watch: 12:48. He'd have to hurry to get back to their place on time, though his legs refused to work properly.

"Maybe Dad found him," Dean told himself, "He was in the car, so he probably found him."

As Dean got to the park, the time was 1:20, and Dean imagined how mad his Dad was going to be when he was late. Sammy would be sitting on the couch, grinning and Dean would get chewed out by his Dad. They'd all go to sleep, and in the morning maybe laugh about it. The last part of the thought made Dean smile, though getting yelled at again by his Dad was the last thing he wanted.

"I'll cut through," Dean's flashlight illuminated a path in the darkened park, "It'll save about fifteen minutes."

The gravel route through the thick trees of the park was ominous, but Dean took a deep breath and walked into it anyways. If a demon was going to attack him, he really didn't care-- he'd rather that than getting home and finding out that his Sammy was still missing. The trails that ran through the woods were called the 'Monkey Trails' for the small winding paths, breaking apart and joining together with sporadic dead ends, and sharp turns.

With his friends, Dean had memorized the area, and so now walked through it without even thinking. It was second nature, and Dean smiled at the memory of Sammy asking him to teach him the trails someday. Dean promised he would, and now vowed that, indeed, as soon as he could, he would teach Sammy anything he wanted.

"Oh my God," with that thought Dean stopped dead in his tracks; the flashlight lighting up a lone tree in front of him as the path broke into a fork, "What if he came in here to try and get home quicker…"

The thought had never occurred to him on the way there. Sammy had always gone around the park when he'd go walking with Dean. Dean was more of the adventurous person who invited danger, and adventure. But what if, Sammy being so angry, he decided to cut through and try to get home quicker.

"Sammy!" Dean called out, "_Hey Sam!_"

Dean expected no reply, so when he heard a small voice, he paused, holding his breath.

Nothing.

"_Sammy!!_" Dean screamed it at the top of his lungs.

This time the reply was louder, and Dean heard it coming from the path breaking to his right. With legs of rubber, Dean ran that way and stopped.

"_Sammy!_" his little brother's name was shouted out again.

"Dean?" the voice was small, and sounded scared.

His heart skipped a beat as Dean's flashlight caught the small huddled ball of his dirty brother about ten feet in front of him. Sam sat curled up by a large tree, and the light on his face showed the tears that had been coming down so freely for God knew how long.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out running over.

"Dean!" instead of getting up, Sammy looked up at Dean with eyes swimming with tears.

"Oh God Sammy," Dean placed the flashlight on the ground and bent down, grabbing Sammy into a tight hug.

Sammy reciprocated the hug strongly, sobbing quietly into his big brothers shirt, his small chest heaving in and out.

"Shh…" Dean choked on his own words, "Shh Sammy, it's ok."

"D-Dean," Sammy hiccoughed, squeezing his small arms around his big brother, "I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Dean moved back, crouching down on his knees, he picked up the flashlight, "It's ok Sammy. Are- are you ok? Are you hurt?"

He moved the light up and down the trembling Sammy, seeing just a few cuts from the branches. Sammy nodded his head, small gasps wracking through his body as he tried to calm down, though tears still fell down his face.

"Shh Sammy," Dean rubbed his back; he hated seeing his brother like this, "Everything is going to be ok."

"I'm sorry Dean," Sammy's small eyes stared up at Dean, "I'm sorry."

Dean laughed, his own tears threatening to leak over, "I guess you should have went around the park huh Sammy?"

Sammy nodded again, though this time spoke, "I got lost."

"So I see," Dean looked around, "Are you sure you're ok Sammy?"

Sammy held out his arms, "I got cut by the branches. But I'll be ok. Is-- is Dad mad at me?"

Dean shook his head, "No, he's not mad. He's scared Sammy. I was scared-- really scared."

The tears which were threatening to leak over did, and Dean quickly took the light away from his face, hoping that Sammy wouldn't notice.

"I was scared too," Sammy admitted, "Really scared. I thought I'd never see you or Dad again."

Sammy's voice broke again, and Dean leaned down to accept another hug. Taking this time to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, Dean also awkwardly stood up, pulling Sammy to his feet as well.

"Come on Sammy, we have to get back," Dean lead his brother down the path, "Dad will be waiting."

Sammy nodded, adjusting his backpack, "Ok," he paused, "Are you mad at me Dean?"

Dean smiled to himself, wrapping his arm around Sammy's shoulder as they walked slowly, "No I'm not mad Sammy-- just _please_, never do that again."

"Ok," Sammy's small voice came out, leaning against Dean, lacing his hand around his big brothers.

It was almost two by the time Dean saw the house. The front light was on, along with pretty much every other light in the house. His Dad's black Impala sat haphazardly in front of the house, and the sign was taken from the door.

"Come on Sammy," Dean reassured.

"I don't want Daddy to be mad at me," fresh tears came down Sammy's face as he stood his ground outside the house, "I'm really sorry Dean. I didn't mean to scare you and Daddy-- please… I don't want him to be mad at me…"

The words his brother spoke broke Dean's heart, when suddenly he thought of something, "Hey Sammy… want me to go in and talk to Dad first? That way I can make sure he's not mad at you."

Tearfully Sammy nodded, and Dean squeezed his shoulder affectionately before going towards the front steps. Looking back, he saw Sammy staring apprehensively at the house; the outline of his Dad in the front window causing fresh tears to come to his eyes.

Dean walked into the house, and immediately John looked over.

"Dean!" John cried out, "It's two in the morning! Did you--"

The older man's eyes were wide, and Dean was sure he saw evidence of tears.

"Dad," Dean swallowed, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"No," John shook his head, his voice shaking, "No, Dean, I'm going to call the police now-- we need help."

"_Dad!_" Dean spoke loudly to stop his fathers movements, "Sammy's ok."

"He--" John stopped and looked at his oldest boy, "Dean, you _found him!?_ Where is he? Is he ok?"

Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat, "He's ok Dad. He's out in the front yard right now."

John took a large step towards the door, but Dean stopped him.

"Dad, he's scared," Dean's voice was quiet.

"Why?" John's voice caught in his throat; Dean couldn't remember seeing his Dad like this in a long time.

"He's scared that you're going to be mad at him Dad," Dean felt the warm tears come down his face again, though he wasn't sure why, "Please don't-- please don't be mad at him Dad. He- he was so scared. Please don't be mad at him."

John silently nodded and walked by Dean, opening the front door. Dean followed behind and watched as John went down three steps before sitting down on the last one.

"C'mere Sammy," John's voice was laced with tears.

Sammy looked a moment, and at Dean's nod, went running over to John, who folded his son into his arms tightly.

"I'm sorry Dad," Sammy's muffled sobs went into John's shirt, "I'm so sorry-- please don't be mad Dad. Please don't be mad."

John rubbed Sammy's back for a few moments before clearing his throat, "I'm not mad Sammy. I promise I'm not mad."

Sammy shook as he clung onto John.

"Sammy," John pulled Sammy back, and looked into his nearly frantic eyes, "Sammy, listen to me-- I need you to take a deep breath, ok?"

Dean smiled behind them at the familiar words. Sammy, however, took a deep shaking breath.

"Are you alright?" John gently pulled back his youngest son's hair, and wiped away tears from the side of his face.

Sammy nodded, "I'm ok Daddy. Dean helped me."

"Ok," John stroked Sammy's hair again, "I'm glad you're ok Sammy. I want you to go inside, wash up and get your pyjamas on. Dean and I will be in, in a minute, alright."

Sammy took another deep shaking breath, "Ok," he hugged his Dad tightly again whispering tearfully, "I love you Dad."

"I love you too Sammy," John smiled, "Now go clean up. And pick out a book-- Dean can read something before you go to sleep."

"Will you Dean?" Sammy's eyes lit up and he looked up at Dean.

"Sure will," Dean grinned, "You can even pick out two."

"Yeah!" Sammy grinned and bounded up the stairs, stopping to give Dean another hug before going inside.

"Dean…" John's voice rung out a few seconds later, "Come here."

Dean took a deep breath and walked down the stairs, then stood in front of his Dad.

"Yeah Dad?" Dean was scared he was going to get in trouble, and felt butterflies form in his stomach.

"Dean--" John got the one word out before Dean interrupted.

"Dad I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said before, I really didn't. I know that you do what you do for a reason, and I know protecting Sammy is important, and that I should just do what I'm supposed to do, and not complain. I didn't mean what I said, I swear," the words tumbled out of his mouth, and he, again, felt the tears form and fall from his eyes.

John laughed, "Dean, it's ok. You had a right to be mad. I was wrong."

"You were-- what?" Dean breathed hard, adrenaline pumping through his system still.

"I was wrong," John spoke softly, "I've been so wrapped up in hunting lately, I haven't paid attention to you or Sammy at all, and what you two need."

"I'm sorry Dad," Dean whispered out.

John would have laughed if everything that had happened that night wasn't so serious. His boys were boys through and through, and neither of them liked to admit to being wrong, never mind apologize. And yet here was his boys, Dean at that, apologizing and getting teary eyed.

"Dean, it's ok," John smiled reassuringly, "Sammy's ok thanks to you, and--" the oldest Winchester was forced to clear his throat, "And there's nothing I can do to thank you enough."

"He's my baby brother," Dean shrugged, "I had to save him."

"I know Dean," John pulled Dean into a hug.

Dean let himself be hugged, and repeated the words which meant to much to him, "I had to save him Dad. I have to save Sammy…"

The End.


	31. You Can Do Anything

_Disclaimer: burp... hiccough... nope! _

_A/N: Haha! I expect **no** reviews for this story. None! Haha... ok, so this story I wrote on paper first... it was only about four small pages long then, which is why it's even smaller now. I'm pretty sure it can be concidered a drabble... But where I wrote it, and the feelings I had when I wrote it are something I'll never forget...  
I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world; Central Park in New York City (yeah... I live a good 3000km away from there) when I wrote this. I was visiting Windy Fontaine, and as we sat on the grass relaxing, I asked for some paper and a pen, and wrote this out. It's dumb, and really short, but has more feelings behind it than you'll ever realize. Enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: You Can Do Anything  
Genre: Fluffy  
Summary: A short drabble... an excuse for a small bit of brother fluff in the form of a memory in the brother's lives that comes into play in a hunt._

You Can Do Anything

"Four plus three?" Dean didn't even look away from his comic book.

Five year old Sam scrunched up his forehead, "Seven?"

"Yup," Dean smiled, "Seven plus nine?"

Again Sam paused before answering. "Uh... fourteen?"

"Nope," Dean dropped his comic book now and looked up at his little brother, "I'll help you. Hold up seven fingers, Sammy."

"Ok," Sam held up seven chubby fingers.

"And I'll hold up nine," Dean did as he spoke, "Now count them."

Silently Sam's mouth moved as he counted, "Oh! Sixteen!"

"There ya go, Kid!" Dean grinned, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder, "You can do anything."

"Thanks Dean."

§

"Jump Sammy!" Dean shouted upwards toward the second story window.

"Damn it!" Twenty-two year old Sam called out for good measure.

Flames licked around him with black smoke pillowing around. It was a good job gone wrong, and now the only way the hunter knew he'd get out alive was if he jumped from the second story window.

"God damn it Sam, if you don't jump, I _will_ come up there and get you!" Dean's eyes were wide in fear.

"No!"

"Then jump!" Dean bellowed.

'_Seven plus nine is sixteen…_' Sam thought closing his eyes briefly before jumping.

He hit the ground before he knew he'd fallen. It hurt, and Sam knew bruises would follow, but Dean's sudden words of '_Don't move Sammy_' let him know his body was ok enough to want to get up.

"We have to get away," Sam groaned.

"I have to make sure you're ok," Dean stated, "Stay still."

"I'm fine Dean, I swear," Sam grinned forcefully.

Dean bent down and tried to inspect Sam. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Sam began to stand up, "Come on Dean, we have to go."

Dean smiled as he helped Sam up and said softly, "There ya go Kid, you can do anything."

"Thanks Dean."

The End.


	32. Big Brothers

_Disclaimer: Someday I'm just gonna stop having disclaimers... seriously! These things are about as hard to make up as my stories! _

_A/N: Hola! Happy Gobble Day to all my American readers! ok-- so I'm not American, but most of my friends are, and I work for an American company and I got today off... so I like it. I do have a Thanksgiving Day one shot, and was trying to finish it to be able to post tonight... but it's not done yet. I'll try for maybe tomorrow! Alrighty... thanks again people for reviews-- they're very muchly appreciated. This one shot... haha, I just found on my computer as I was trying to decide what to post today. It's a teen!Chester story, so John will, of course will be in it. And... yeah... not much more to say-- enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Big Brothers  
Genre: It's really just fluffy...  
Summary:When Sam starts to come home from school with random injuries... it's time for big brother to step in._

Big Brothers

When fifteen year old Sam came home from school the first week with a black eye, he said it was from banging his face on a locker in gym. Dean laughed, teased and got on with his life. The second time it was a badly split lip from falling on the steps. Dean didn't tease him this time, and their Dad didn't lecture him on being more careful. Somehow the way Sam carried himself with his barely disappearing black eye and now split lip didn't seem so funny.

It was the third week.

Dean was nineteen; had his own things to do-- own hunts that he helped their Dad on while Sam was at school. But when he came home one day on the third week of school to find Sam's shoes tossed haphazardly on the floor by the door, and yet no Sam sitting lazily on the couch, Dean felt a cold feeling form in his stomach.

"Hey Sam!" it was John, however, that called out for his youngest as he walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, "You home?!"

The question was obvious, but more a point to get a location on the teen. A muffled call was heard from down the hall, and John nodded to Dean to go and check on him. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Dean walked down the hall. It was the first time in a long time that they had a place large enough for both Sam and Dean to have their own room. And as he got to the first room on the right with a large sign on the door reading '_My room. My mess. My problem._', Dean smiled and knocked.

"Hey Sammy, can I come in?" Dean asked through the wooden door.

"One sec," there was a muffle inside the room before Sam spoke up again, "Yeah, come in."

Dean opened the door and looked around. A dresser stood to his immediate left, and clothes covered pretty much every inch of the floor leading to the bed to the right. Sam sat on the bed, covered with a dark, navy blue comforter. Dean frowned at the light bruising that still spread out from the corner of his eye, and the red lip.

"Hey, have a good day?" Dean asked, sitting down on a chair leaning against the wall by the bed.

"Uh huh," something about Sam's face stuck a nerve in Dean.

"What's wrong?" Dean questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"N-Nothing," Sam shook his head.

"You cold or something?" Dean pressed.

Sam shook his head, "No."

Dean raised his eyebrows suspiciously, "Then why do you got your covers up to your neck Sammy?"

Sam bit his lower lip nervously, "Dean… you can't tell Dad…"

"What?" immediately older brother instinct went off, "What's wrong Sammy?"

Sam swallowed hard and took a deep breath before talking, "Dean-- there's some… guys at school. The first day of classes I was talking to this girl; Carrie. And I guess she was the girlfriend of some guy named Tyler, because next thing I knew I had a group of about six of them really pissed off at me."

Dean could feel his heart beat quicken, "Sam, were they the ones that gave you the black eye and the split up lip?"

Sam silently nodded.

"_Damn it!_" Dean cussed out loudly, "I'll kick their fricken asses. Who were they Sammy?"

"Dean, no," Sam shook his head frantically, "No, please. I can handle this."

"Apparently not very well," Dean gestured towards his little brother, and as he did so, something occurred to him, "Sam… move the blanket."

"No," Sam's voice was quiet.

"Sam, I'm going to give you to the count of three before I _make_ you move it," Dean threatened, getting a serious look on his face as he placed his beer bottle down and leaned towards the bed.

"Dean, it's not that bad," Sam insisted as he pushed back the blanket.

Dean swallowed hard, seeing a towel laid across Sam's left arm, and an icepack pressed against it. Wordlessly Dean got off the chair and moved to sit beside his brother on the bed.

"Lemme see," he ordered.

Sam pivoted around and stuck his arm out towards Dean. Carefully Dean removed the ice pack, and, taking a breath inwards, pulled back the towel. Sam's whole forearm was about twice the size it should have been, and a large, dark lump stuck out of the side between his wrist and elbow.

"Oh God, Sammy," Dean whispered out, running his fingers gently across the arm; Sam flinching in pain.

"It's not that bad," Sam repeated, his voice cracking.

"Dude, your arm is broken," Dean shook his head sympathetically.

"No," a single tear fell down Sam's face, "No… man…"

"Hey," Dean forced a grin, "It'll be alright Kid. You can sit in the front seat of the Impala on the way to the hospital, and I won't even put on the music you hate. Then you can tell me where these kids are, and I'll beat the crap out of them, and make sure they know that if they ever touch my little brother again, I'll show them the cool end of a gun."

A ghost of a smile came to Sam's lips as he shook his head, "No Dean-- please, I don't want to make this any worse."

"Well, we can discuss it on the way, but we gotta go now," Dean stood up, "Black, blue and bumpy is not a look for you dude."

"What about Dad?" Sam asked quietly.

"What about him?" Dean shrugged getting up, "This wasn't your fault Sammy. You said there was what-- six people? That's not exactly fair."

"I know," Sam looked worried, "But Dad… he taught us to fight and hunt and everything. I should have--"

"What?" Dean laughed, "Shot them with rock salt? Come on man…"

Sam sighed, "Alright."

"Come on," Dean nodded towards the door, "We have to go."

Reluctantly Sam got up and followed his brother out of the room and down the hall; replacing the towel and icepack as he went.

John met his sons in the living room, "What's going on?"

"Uhh--" Dean glanced at Sam before looking at their Dad, "Sammy is having some problems with some guys at school. But I'll take care of it-- don't worry."

"Sammy, what happened to your arm?" John questioned, eyeing the covered body part.

"I was outnumbered Dad," Sam immediately defended.

"Let me see," John left no question to his request.

Sam hesitated a moment, giving a quick glance to Dean before removing the towel. John took a deep breath, and gently took the arm in his hands, the whole while Sam slowly tensed, and he felt his lower lip tremble.

"It's ok Sammy," John spoke softly, "I'm not mad at you."

Sam nodded silently as his Dad continued to look over the arm. Dean stood behind Sam, a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Alright," John replaced the icepack carefully around the injury, "Take him to the hospital, and then call me as soon as you know anything."

"Yes Sir," Dean obediently agreed, "Come on Sammy."

John smiled and rubbed Sam's back. Giving a weak smile back at his Dad, Sam followed his big brother out the door and to the sleek, black Impala. Dean helped him inside, and the two took off down the road.

"So Sammy," Dean spoke up after a few moments of silence, "What do you want me to do about this?"

Sam shrugged, staring out the window.

"This can't go on dude," Dean's voice was soft, "At this rate, they'll have you dead by the end of first quarter." this got a small smile out of Sam, and the elder brother went on, "Listen kid… I'm your big brother, I'm supposed to protect you; supposed to keep you safe."

"I know," Sam whispered.

"It's hard enough to watch out for your ass when an angry spirit is after you, or some God damned demon is trying to smash you through a window, or choke the life out of you." Dean paused, "But when it's some… person… dude, I just feel…"

"…I _know_," Sam interrupted, "I just-- I want to handle some stuff on my own. You and Dad are always looking out for me, and trying to protect me, or stopping me from getting hurt. I want to feel like I can do _something_ to help myself or someone else."

"You do help," Dean chuckled, "Dude just last week you stopped that werewolf from attacking Dad! And then the water demon in Stanford-- I would have drowned if it wasn't for you."

Sam smiled, "I guess…"

"Now these guys," Dean pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, "I think I can round up some of my… friends--"

"You mean your drinking buddies?"

"Shut up Sammy," Dean frowned before continuing, "… anyways, I think I can get some people, and go down to the school to give these boys a good scare."

"Dean, I don't want you to hurt them," Sam sat in the stopped car.

Dean thought about this, "Alright… I promise I won't hurt them."

"And no gun," Sam warned, "The last time you did that, the police were after us, and Dad had to make us move."

Dean grinned fondly, "Yeah… I remember that."

Sam frowned.

"Ok, ok, no guns," Dean agreed, "We'll go down there, and make them pee themselves with the sheer, intimidating aura I have."

Sam laughed, and looked down at his hurt arm, "Thanks Dean."

Dean grinned, and tousled Sam's hair, "Hey… what are big brothers for?"

The End.


	33. Saturday Afternoon

_Disclaimer: arf ( -- no) _

_A/N: Howdy! So tonight's one shot isn't my thanksgiving one, but it's still one people may enjoy. It's also a reader request from long ago-- AND an idea that many people have said that they'd like to see. It's a small one shot about Dean getting into a fight. Haha, it may not be what you all expect, but I had fun with it, and I hope you have fun reading it. Enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Saturday Afternoon  
Genre: Action!  
Summary: Sam is playing at a park while Dean looks on. Suddenly three guys come along who want much more than to play with young Sammy..._

Saturday Afternoon

Dean sat bored on the bench with a comic book in hand that he'd read at least a dozen times. The sun shone brightly on his jeans, and the warm breeze brushed away at his shaggy, light brown hair. Beside him were two bikes; one laying haphazardly on the ground, and the other, smaller, standing neatly with the kickstand holding it up. The smaller bike; blue with red designs, belonged to eight year old Sam, while the larger, black bike belonged to thirteen year old Dean. The younger of the two brothers currently was playing on the equipment in the park that the two had gone to. John had made Dean go with Sam, not wanting the youngest to go by himself, and now Dean found himself waiting, surprisingly patiently, on the bench as his brother played with some local kids.

"Dean, come play!" Sam waved his arms from the top of a tower on one side of the play set, "We're gonna play tag!"

"I'm good," Dean held up his comic, "I'm just reading-- have fun Sammy!"

Sam shrugged and went back to playing. Dean loved these moments-- Sam had long ago been introduced to the world of demons and evil, and yet the young boy could still be a kid and play simple games like tag. Dean continued to sit there for another fifteen minutes, randomly reading his comic while at the same time keeping an eye on Sam. The kid was smart, though lately had been annoyingly accident prone. He had also been having trouble with some of the local older kids-- ones that were Dean age, and so it was when these older kids arrived at the park at just past two on that Saturday that Dean tensed.

"Hey Winchester!" the taller of the three boys; Trevor, yelled towards Sam, "Where's your brother?"

"Here!" Dean called out, stepping into view before Sam could say anything.

A short, pudgier boy named Al started to climb up the equipment towards where Sam and two of his friends stood, "He asked shorty, not you."

"Leave him alone," Dean threatened slowly walking closer.

The last boy, Adam, laughed, "Or what? We heard that you beat that fifth grader the other day Dean-- try picking on someone your own size."

"Like you?" Dean eyed Sam, mentally seeing if there was an escape from Al coming closer to him.

"Well we'll see after we show your little brother what it's like to have the crap beaten out of him by someone older," Al cracked his knuckles, "'Cause that kid you broke the nose of? That was _my_ brother."

"Oh you gotta be kidding," Dean breathed before speaking loudly, "Then it's _me_ you want-- not him. And I swear-- if you even touch my little brother, I'll break the nose of everyone in your family."

"Dean," Sam's voice finally broke through just as Al made it to the top, "Dean, just go-- get Dad."

"I'm not leaving you Sammy," anger and determination was laced in Dean's voice as Trevor and Adam advanced on him.

Sam stood, protecting his two friends with his arms stretched out on either side. Dean's heart slowly sped up-- there was no way this was going to end good. The thought had no sooner washed through his mind before everything happened. It all happened so quickly, and Dean wouldn't know until hours later what exactly happened. Trevor yelled from in front of Dean in a fit of rage, and in the mere second that Dean took his eyes off of his brother, he heard Sam scream and then a solid thump.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out.

Looking over, he saw Sam laying on the ground at the bottom of the tower which he'd been cornered on. While his attention was drawn away, Trevor pounced at Dean followed quickly by Adam. Punches were thrown, and Dean was vaguely aware of the fact that Al had jumped down from the tower to finish off his work with Sam. It was at that time that the Winchester's training in fighting came into play as it wasn't even fifteen seconds after the two teens jumped Dean that Dean had them both laying on the ground; blood coming from both their mouths and noses. Dean got a shock then, as almost as soon as he was sure that he had his two assailants under control, Al came running over to his friends sporting his own split lip.

"Come on!" Al grabbed the arm of Trevor, "Lets get out of here," he turned towards Dean, "This isn't over Winchester!"

"You better hope it is!" Dean shouted, wiping the blood from his face.

Frantically he turned his head over to where Sam was, and saw his little brother crouched to the ground, his friends from the playground rushing over to him now.

"Sammy!" Dean called out, worry evident in his voice.

Sam looked up at Dean, "Dean!"

"That was so cool!" one of the kids exclaimed, his eyes wide, "You guys got them away! And Sam-- even after he pushed you off, you got Al… he's one of the toughest kids in middle school!"

Dean rushed over, and bent down to his knees to be eye level with Sam. Carefully he pulled his little brother's face up to get a better look. The youngest looked to have a black eye slowly appearing, and a small trickle of blood crept out of his nose.

"Sammy," Dean held tight to his arms, "Are you hurt?"

"My knee," Sam mumbled out, "When he pushed me-- I fell on my knee."

Dean looked down at his brother's leg and winced; the pant leg was covered in blood and the rip through the jeans showed a large cut; blood and dirt mixed together within.

"God…" Dean whispered out, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "I'm so sorry Sammy…"

"Why?" Sam questioned as Dean supported him towards the bench and away from the crowd of kids.

"Because this is my fault," Dean admitted, "That kid, Al, his little brother was laughing at the fact that we didn't have a Mom the other day, and I clocked him one. If I hadn't, these guys wouldn't have gone after you."

Sam looked down at his feet, "I would have hit him too."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, I bet that would have worked out great."

"Hey," Sam defended, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, "I got rid of Al today!"

"True," Dean admitted, "But you also played superman today with your nice leap from the tower."

"It wasn't a leap, it was a push," Sam corrected.

"Either way, we gotta get you to a doctor," Dean frowned as he again looked down at the hurt leg, "Come on Sammy."

"What about the bikes?" Sam asked, "I can't ride it."

"That's ok," Dean shook his head dismissively, "We'll call Dad, and he can come pick us up."

"Ok."

"You did good Sammy," Dean whispered squeezing Sam's shoulder affectionately.

The two brother's stood up, Dean's arm firmly around Sam to support him on the trek across the field. It wasn't the first fight Dean had been in, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. But the one thing he did know was that he'd never been as proud of Sammy as he was at that moment.

The End.


	34. Gobble Gobble

_Disclaimer: I've done it... I've run out of ways to say these awesomely hot guys aren't mine..._

_A/N: Howdy folks! Sorry this is a little late, but I wanted to finish the Thanksgiving one shot. And guess what-- I did! Haha, it's not that great, but it is a fun little story to read, and was pretty entertaining to write. Anyways, I'm tired, and want to sleep, so I'm gonna keep my chit-chat here to a minimum. I hope you enjoy this, and thanks for reviewing!_

* * *

_Title: Gobble Gobble  
Genre: Kind of awww... and a little bit of humor.  
Summary: Sort of a Wee!Chester story. Sam remembers a time when he was ten years old, and his brother showed him that he's not like everyone else. _

Gobble Gobble

"Gobble, gobble."

"Shut-up Dean."

"Gobble, gobble," this was quickly followed by a short laugh from the elder brother.

"Shut-_up_ Dean, or I will make you shut up," Sam threatened, though at the same time, a smile itched at his face.

Dean grinned widely, "Aww, c'mon Sammy, don't you remember?"

Twenty-three year old Sam stared a determinedly blank look at his older brother, "What do you think."

Dean's smile got bigger, "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."…

-§-

"Dad!" Sam cried out, "I don't want Dean to go! All he's going to do is make fun of me."

"No he won't," John slipped on his jacket from the end table, "Because if he _does_ make fun of you," he turned his attention now to fourteen year old Dean, who stood leaning against the wall, "he will find himself with a weeks worth of privileges taken away."

Ten year old Sam sat stubbornly on the chair sitting near the front door, "I'm not going."

"Sam," John sighed dramatically, "You have been looking forward to this play for the past month. _I_ am taking off time from a hunt to go and see it. Now you _will_ go."

Dean let out a small snicker as Sam stood grumpy to his feet.

"Hey Dean," John spoke as he opened the front door, "Remember that movie you wanted to go and see tomorrow night?"

Dean hesitated a moment, "Yeah?"

John headed towards the dark car sitting in the driveway, "Good. Now forget about it."

A half hour later John stood backstage at the elementary school-- Dean having already found a seat in the audience much too close to the front for his brother's comfort. Sam stood in front of his Dad wearing his costume for the staring roll in his elementary school play.

The turkey.

"Sammy, come on," John placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Cheer up. You were so excited about this last week."

"Yeah," tears brimmed in Sam's eyes, "But… then Dean said he wasn't going to go."

John paused, "Don't you want Dean to see?"

Sam silently shook his head. This shocked John; fore as long as he could remember, Sam and Dean had been close. Young Sammy was always following Dean around, and it was like Christmas day when Dean actually wanted to spend time with him. And now the younger brother was standing here, nearly in tears because Dean was going to the annual Thanksgiving Day play at his elementary school.

"Sammy," John spoke softly and bent down to Sam's level, "What's wrong?"

A small tear did come down Sam's face now, smudging the brown make-up that plastered his features. Patiently John waited for an answer; knowing how his son's worked.

"He'll laugh," Sam finally whispered out.

"Who?" John coaxed, "Dean?" Sam nodded, "Sam, Dean won't laugh at you."

"Yes he will!" Sam cried out, "I heard him. He-he said to his friends that it was stupid. I heard him… the other day. They said they were gonna laugh!"

John let out a small chuckle, "Sammy, Dean's not going to laugh. He was just talking to his friends-- like you do with your friends."

Sam's lower lip was still trembling, "…he will."

"He won't," John insisted, "Now, go and fix your make-up Sammy. Even Pastor Jim came out to see this," Sam opened his mouth to protest, but John interrupted him, "--and don't worry about Dean. You're brother isn't like that, and you know it."

Silently Sam nodded, and walked away to do as he was told. True to his fear, when Sam came out on stage near the middle of the play, not only was his Dad, Dean and Pastor Jim sitting very nearly the front row, but so was some of Dean's buddies. A sudden bout of nervousness bubbled up in the ten year old.

"Look! There's the turkey!" a small girl on the stage dressed as a pilgrim pointed at Sam, "Catch him before he gets away!"

Sam looked away from the audience, pulled his arms in and flapped them in his best turkey impression, "Gobble, gobble! You can't catch me! Gobble, gobble!"

The audience clapped loudly as Sam ran around the stage, the swarm of other fifth graders chasing after him in an animated showdown. Sam forgot about his fears as the rest of the play went on; right from the pilgrims setting up for the dinner, to Sam sneaking in a 'fake' turkey to replace himself, and then to the feast itself as all the kids sat at a large table, and pretended to eat.

Sam had the final line as he poked his head out from the side of the curtain and said loudly, "Gobble! Gobble!"

The curtain closed, and all the students walked to in front and bowed. Sam was in the center, and spread out his wings as he took his bow as the audience rose to their feet and clapped. As Sam exited the stage to the back, he was just beginning to feel proud of himself and wonder why he was worrying when he saw three of Dean's friends walk over.

"Hey Winchester!" one boy pulled his arms in and mocked Sam's turkey movements, "Gobble, gobble!"

This was followed by roaring laughter from the other two friends.

"Shut-up!" Sam shot out.

"What'sa matter?" the boy laughed, "Is the 'ickle turkey afraid?"

"I said _shut-up_!" Sam fumed.

This only made the boys laugh harder as the three began to dance around in a circle flapping their arms wildly.

"Gobble, gobble!"

Sam felt fresh tears burn at his eyes, and he was just about to run off and wait outside for his family, when there was a loud thump. Without even realizing what happened, a screech from one of his classmates entered his ears, and Sam looked over to see one of the boys which had been making fun of him was now laying on the ground.

"Wanna try that again Brice?"

A smile touched Sam's lips as he saw Dean standing over the boy.

"Dean," one of the other boys looked at Dean, "What are you doing man?"

"What am _I_ doing?" Dean laughed out in disbelief, "What the hell are _you_ doing?"

"You saw the play!" defended the third bully, "It was stupid!"

"Yeah, well so are you Kyle, but you don't see me mocking you," Dean spat out, "And trust me-- that would get a hell of a lot more laughs than you picking on a fifth grader. Not to mention my brother."

Brice pulled himself to his feet, "Damn Dean… you were laughing about this play the other day. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Yeah, I laughed at it," Dean agreed, "We also laughed at the play that we did for the fall pageant! That doesn't mean you can be a god damn bully!"

The second boy walked up to Dean and shoved him, "You'll watch your mouth Winchester, or I'll _make_ you."

"Try it," Dean threatened quietly as he pulled himself up to his full height, "Just _try_ it Mike…"

Mike keep the gaze for a few moments before stepping back, "Seriously Dean… sticking up for kids like him. You're better off raising idiots."

"That's your Mom's job," Dean shot out, "Now just get lost, and if I see any of you messing with my brother again, I'll make sure it's the last thing you do."

The three kids walked away, and it was a long moment before anyone spoke.

"You didn't have to do that Dean," Sam broke the silence.

"Yeah I did," Dean objected turning towards his little brother, "Are you ok Sammy?"

Sam wordlessly nodded.

"I thought it was good," Dean shot out a smile, "When I was in your grade and we had a play, I was the person who got to baste the turkey. You? _You_ got to be the turkey. I would have killed for that part! But you were way better than I would have been."

Sam smiled modestly, "Really?"

"Definitely!" Dean emphasized, "Dad and Pastor Jim thought so too! I was clapping so hard it hurt. See."

Sam looked down at Dean hands, and just as he did so, Dean stuck them out and began to tickle Sam in the side. Sam's giggle could be heard all backstage, and it was only when tears were running down Sam's face, and his voice came in gleeful gasps that Dean stopped.

"I would never do what they did to you," Dean then spoke seriously, "I wouldn't hurt you just because I thought it was funny."

"I know," Sam's quiet voice was followed by a question, "But Dean… I thought they were your friends?"

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam as they walked out to meet their Dad, "So are you Sammy…"

-§-

"Gobble, gobble!"

"Alright, seriously Dean," a smile had spread to Sam's face now, "You're asking for it."

"Really?" Dean egged Sam on, "What's the turkey gonna do?"

"This turkey," Sam slowly inched his way towards the counter, "This turkey is going to teach baster-boy a lesson."

It was in the split second that Dean let his guard down that Sam grabbed the bottle of water off of the counter in the hotel room. If the lid hadn't of been off, it wouldn't have been nearly as easy; however luck was on his side as Sam swung the bottle at Dean, soaking his brother in cold water.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried out in shock as he swiveled towards Sam.

Sam grinned and spoke mockingly before bee-lining towards the bathroom door, "Gobble, gobble Dean."

The End.


	35. Mary

_Disclaimer: once upon a time there was a dragon who walked into the land of wizards and-- NO! --haha... got ya! _

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying all of these stories so much-- I'm enjoying writing them, and trust me when I say I have a lot left to post, so get comfy! Ok, so this one shot is actually one that I'd post before under here, and deleted, so some of you may recognize it. It's a rather short story-- almost a drabble as it's only around 600 words, but it's still an entertaining read. Enjoy, and keep reviewing!

* * *

Title: Mary  
Genre: Kindda sad...though will make you smile.  
Summary: Dean is still very young, and Sam an enfant as the brother's find out that they are never really alone.

Mary

"Dean, watch Sammy-- he's going to fall," Mary cautioned.

"I know," Dean lifted up Sam, "Boy, you're heavy."

"Dean," Mary laughed, "Don't drop him."

"I won't, I won't," Dean huffed, carefully carrying the one and a half year old down the steps, "Daddy said he'd be back soon, but Sammy wanted to play in the grass."

"Well Daddy also said to stay in the house," Mary's tone was serious, though she knew it did nothing, "He doesn't like you boys playing outside while he's out."

"Nothin's gonna happen Mommy," Dean grinned a five years olds grin, "I'm almost six-- I can watch Sammy."

Mary sat on the step and watched as Dean placed Sam on the ground. Her youngest boy had only learned to walk in the last few months and unsteadily attempted to run towards the sandbox which sat in the backyard. Dean was bent down trying feebly to tie up his shoelace, and so didn't see as Sam began to stumble.

"_Watch!_" Mary cried leaping to her feet and grabbing Sam just before hitting face first into the wooden frame of the sandbox, "See Dean-- this is why your father told you to keep Sammy inside."

"Sorry," Dean flushed pink, "But I don't know why Daddy has to leave so much-- if he stayed, it wouldn't be so bad stay'n inside."

"I know Sweetie, but Daddy has to go out sometimes to do important grownup things," Mary attempted to explain, placing Sam back on the ground in the sandbox, "Pastor Jim always comes if he's going to be longer than a few minutes so you can play. And he's always fun."

"I know," Dean sighed, "But Sammy doesn't like him. He never changes Sammy's diaper good."

Mary laughed, "Come on. Let's go inside. If you're good maybe you can have some ice cream when Daddy comes homes."

Dean's eyes lit up before panic washed over, "But Daddy will be mad if he knew I took Sammy outside!"

"Don't worry," Mary decided to carry Sam into the house in fear of the condition he might end up in if Dean tried.

Dean stared up earnestly at his Mom, "You won't say anything to Daddy?"

"Not a word," Mary promised, "It will be our little secret. Sammy might say something though."

Dean giggled as they walked up the steps, "Silly Mommy… Sammy can't talk."

"He's working on it," Mary smiled as the three entered the house, "Right Sammy?"

"Mamamamama," Sam gurgled with a goofy smile.

"That doesn't count," Dean stated.

"Sure it does," Mary continued as she placed Sam in the playpen, "Sammy, can you say Daddy?"

"Dadda," Sam smiled proudly.

"How 'bout Dean?" Dean questioned, peeking over and looking down at his baby brother.

Sam giggled in response, and Dean frowned.

"You were his first word Dean," Mary informed him, "When Sammy was five months old, we placed him in your lap, and as sure as the sky is blue, he spoke 'Dean'."

Dean smiled proudly, "Why not now?"

"He's just playing with you," Mary cooed into the playpen, "Aren't you Love?"

Sam gave a large yawn in response. Both Mary and Dean watched for a few minutes as Sam sat down and began to play with a stuffed bear.

"Mommy…" Dean's voice was soft.

"Yes?" Mary smiled down at Dean, who continued to look at Sam.

"Why can't you stay here when Daddy comes home?" Dean voiced his question, "I want you to stay. I miss you."

"Oh baby, I miss you too," Mary spoke just as softly as she crouched down to Dean's eye level, "But it's just the way things are. Do you remember what I told you every night when you went to sleep?"

Dean sniffled back a tear and nodded, "Yeah."

"What?" Mary smiled.

Dean looked at his Mom and gave a small smile, "That Angels are watching over me."

The key could be heard in the lock of the front door as John arrived, and Mary kissed Dean gently before speaking in a fading whisper, "And they always will be."

The End.


	36. Past, Present and Future

_Disclaimer: let's not and say we did. _

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this one shot peoples. Been kindda busy what with being a full time student and full time work (dude, I'm superman!). Haha, so this next one shot... was one that I was thinking about at work today. I wrote it a long time ago, and there is a warning on it similar to one that I've given before: keep reading no matter what!. Yeah, just keep reading it-- the weak at heart can peak at the end, but to have the full effect just read right through, and trust me. So yeah-- read it, review it, and enjoy!

* * *

Title: Past, Present and Future  
Genre: This story has everything; tragedy, angst, fluff... and hell, even a little humour.  
Summary: After a tragedy happens, Sam is stuck in a life he no longer wants to live. It only seems to get worse, however, when a spirit comes to give him an ominous warning.

Past, Present and Future

Sam ran his fingers across the lettering. It was carved into the dark blue marble, and the sunlight that shone through the trees sparkled off the slate. It wasn't very old, and Sam knew that with time, the wonder of the grave would loose its effect. It would wear down, overgrow and perhaps be forgotten. Sam nearly laughed, though wanted to cry. He knew that would never happen as much as the person the monument was for would want it to. He'd want Sam to forget, to move on, to hunt every evil thing from there to eternity. To learn from their mistakes, but not to let them get in the way.

Dean had always told Sam that he'd be first.

He was right.

"Come on Dean," Sam ripped away a small weed, "How the hell do you expect me to do this huh? First Mom… then Dad, and now you?"

Sam was an orphan. The thought was weird, and technically incorrect, but the basis was there. He'd lost both parents, though wasn't a child anymore. The ringing word of 'orphan' had crossed Sam's mind the day they burned their Dad, but Dean had been there giving him more love and support than he could ever remember John giving. But now…

Sam was an orphan.

Sam laughed, "God Dean. I'm acting like a child right now-- you'd smack me if you were around." the twenty-three year old swallowed hard, "I just-- wish I knew what the hell happened to you."

If there was one wish Sam could have at that moment, he knew what it would be. Without any doubt in his mind, he'd want to go back a week and a half. Ten days ago. To when Dean was killed by something that made his body nearly indistinguishable and burnt. Sam had identified him by the wallet and the necklace.

"Here Dean," Sam's voice was soft as he echoed the actions he did by his mothers grave months ago, "I know how much this meant to you."

A small hole was dug into the ground with the tip of his knife, and Sam placed the charmed necklace in. A tear rolled gently down the sole Winchester's face, and he quickly stood to his feet and walked back to the Impala. At first Sam never wanted to see the car again, though Dean's voice stopped him from scrapping it.

Dean would kill him if he didn't take care of it.

"Don't worry Dean," Sam started up the car and pulled out onto the road, "I'll find what did this to you, I swear."

"No you won't."

The sudden voice coming from the passenger seat beside him caused Sam to scream out, and the car to slide viciously across the deserted road. Sam smashed painfully against the door.

"Whoa! Sammy, watch it!"

A loud screeching noise filled the air as Sam slammed on the breaks; the Impala finally coming to a stop at a sharp angle across the road.

"D-Dean," Sam choked on his words as he stared over at his brother sitting beside him on the beige seat.

Dean studied his little brother for a moment, "Dude, are you ok?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

"Come on Haley Joel," Dean laughed, "You've seen more dead people than anyone."

"But you were never one of them!" Sam cried out suddenly.

"I'm guessing that's because this is the first time I've been one," Dean quipped, "Now get the car straight before someone creams you. Because I swear, if this car gets wrecked because you're trying to do doughnuts on a random road, I'm going to kill you."

"Dean…" Sam cleared his throat as he drove slowly down the road, trying to calm himself, "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"You said you wanted to find out what happened to me," Dean spoke carefully, studying Sam, "But you can't."

Sam's hand's were shaking and white as he clutched the wheel. He refused to look at Dean, so instead stared straight ahead at the winding road. Dean was right-- he'd seen enough spirits and things in his life time than people even think about. But that didn't stop him from convincing himself that it was his desperate imagination brining the ghost of Dean into the car with him.

"Sam…" Dean's voice rung out again, as Sam did his best to ignore it, "Sam, come on, you suck at this game, and you always have."

"This isn't real," Sam continued to look out the windshield, tears rolling down his face.

"Sam stop the car," Dean's voice went monotone.

"Why?"

"Oh, _now_ you listen to me," Dean muttered before continuing, "Because you're swerving all over the place, and this is going to be a whole lot harder if you die too."

Taking a deep breath, Sam pulled the sleek, black car to the side, and turned off the engine. His heart pounded, and the young hunter still refused to look at his brother.

"Sammy listen to me, ok?" Dean spoke softly.

Sam wordlessly nodded.

"You want to figure out what happened to me, but you can't," Dean explained, pivoting to face Sam in the beige seats.

Sam paused, his voice breaking as he finally looked over at his dead brother, "But I have to Dean. I have to help you…"

"I know Sammy," Dean tried to keep his voice reassuring, though knew what he was about to say would ruin any chances of that, "But… you can't because you're not even conscious right now?"

"What?" Sam looked over at Dean, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sam, how did I die?" Dean asked simply.

"I don't know," Sam spoke quietly.

"How did you get to my gravesite?" Dean questioned.

Sam, again, was silent as he shook his head.

"Dude…" Dean smiled almost sadly, "I died in a car accident. In the same car you're sitting in right now."

"No," Sam's voice was barely audible, "No… Dean… I-I don't want to hear this…"

"Sam, you have to," Dean's voice was firm, "It started a few weeks ago. We were on a hunt and some son of a bitch demon clocked you good," Dean closed his eyes to clear his emotions, "Dude… I got you to the hospital, but the doctors said it was too late. They said that the swelling around your brain was too severe, and you went into a coma. They--" the older brother cleared his throat, "--they said that you wouldn't wake up at all man. They said to just give up. But you know our family," he chuckled, "We don't know the meaning of giving up. So… so I took the car to try and find some help-- find anything to make you better. But I guess I was going too fast--"

"Please don't Dean," Sam had silent tears coming down his face, "Please… no…"

"I was gone before anyone even arrived at the scene," Dean concluded solemnly.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sam asked desperately, "I don't understand. If-- if I'm not even alive right now, and you're dead… why did you have to tell me?"

"You are alive Sammy," a smile broke through Dean's face, "…and so am I."

Sam stared, wide eyed at the apparition of his brother sitting beside him. Silence lingered in the soft country air, Sam afraid to speak or move.

"Do you understand?" Dean asked.

"I'm-- this--" Sam cleared his throat and spoke quietly, "This is a vision."

Dean continued to smile and nodded his head, "Yeah, but you're still in a coma right now. Dude… you have to wake up before I leave."

Sam's breath quickened, "H-How?"

"That's up to you Sam," Dean grinned, "Use your brain college boy, and I bet you'll figure something out."

Sam was about to reply, though quickly found himself alone in the car as the ghost of Dean disappeared into nothingness. His heart pounded in his chest, and Sam struggled to try and think if what just happened was real. It took no more than an earth shattering moment to realize it didn't matter.

Sam couldn't go on without his big brother.

The 1967 Chevy Impala wasn't a quiet car to begin with, and as Sam revved out the engine to get it as fast as possible it cried in protest as tears started to block his vision. Nothing seemed real, nothing seemed to matter, and as a sharp corner in the road approached, the youngest Winchester found himself squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to see his life end before he'd barely started it.

The sound was one that would never reach Sam's ears as the black car shot off the road, and smashed deafeningly into an old tree. Like aluminum foil, the car scrunched up, molding itself around the sturdy trunk of a oak tree. Flames burst out of the engine and quickly spread through the car. All the while the occupant sat inside, one voice entering his ears that had nothing to do with the horrific crash he'd just endured…

"Sam," the voice was quiet and tear-filled, "Sammy… please man… please don't do this…"

Everything in Sam's body hurt, and though he knew he recognized the voice, Sam couldn't quiet figure out who it was.

"I-I have to do something," _the voice was so familiar!_, "I-- I'll find Bobby… he can help. Sammy… Sammy, if you can hear me, I promise I'll be back. I promise little brother."

It was Dean! Sam's mind flashed painfully back to the premonition that had seemed so real. Dean had died when he left the hospital to find help, and now the younger brother had to stop him from leaving.

A hand was slipped delicately around his and Sam heard his big brother's voice once more, "I'll be back Sammy."

Slowly and painfully Sam squeezed Dean's hand back.

"S-Sam--" Dean breathed staring down at Sam.

Sam had a large tube coming out of his mouth, and seemingly hundreds of other tubes and wires sticking out from around him. Just over a week ago when he was brought in, the younger hunter had bruises covering much of his face and body, though now they were fading into dim memories.

"Sammy, c'mon buddy," Dean begged, "Open your eyes."

Slowly Sam opened his eyes, his blurred vision slowly making a crisp outline of the best thing he knew he'd ever see. Dean grinned down at him, his cheeks pink, and tears instantly crawling their way down his unshaven face.

"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, rubbing his hand, "It's ok… e-everything is ok. I promise."

_One week later--_

"Up and at 'em," Dean knocked loudly on the hospital door and stepped inside his brother's room.

"You up and at 'em," Sam mumbled attempting to bring the covers up over his head.

"No way dude," Dean pulled the blankets back, "You gotta walk around. If you're going to be covering my back when we're doing our job, I at least want you to be able to walk more than five feet without cussing."

"Jerk," Sam groaned.

"Yeah, ok you little bitch, just get up," Dean clapped Sam on his leg, "I want us out of here by the end of the week."

Sam swung his feet to the floor, the room spinning before his eyes, "I thought the doctor said he wanted me here for at least another two weeks?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned, "But our fake insurance card says that we'll be lucky to make it to Thursday. Come on."

Dean reached down a hand, and grabbed Sam from under the arm. With a loud groan Sam stood to his feet and together they walked a few steps; Dean's muscles firmly grabbing Sam's arm to keep him steady.

"So how do you feel today?" Dean asked.

"Better," Sam brought his hand up to his head where a large white bandaged was wrapped firmly around it.

Dean swallowed, "I'm glad you're ok Sammy. I don't know what I would have done--"

"I know," Sam stared down at his feet, forcing them to move the way he wanted, "I'm glad you're ok too Dean. It just wouldn't be the same without you."

"We're like Jack and Jill," Dean commented.

Sam stopped and looked up at him, "What?"

"Jack and Jill…" Dean sheepishly tried to explain, "You know… those two kids that do everything together, and then fall down the hill…" Sam stared blankly at him, "Come on dude-- I've had about five hours of sleep in the past three days. Take it or leave it."

Sam laughed, "Yeah."

"So," Dean paused once they got to the doorway, "Think you can walk on your own?"

"I can try," Sam's voice shone with determination.

Dean let go of his brother's arm and he watched as Sam took slow steps on his own across the hospital hall.

"Good job Sammy," Dean spoke hoarsely, tears tickling his eyes.

"Hey Dean?" Sam looked behind him, a smile on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Just one thing," Sam continued to walk, Dean just a few paces behind him, "When we do leave here… I'm driving."

The End.


	37. My Brother

_Disclaimer: Really... if I say yes... what're they gonna do?_

_A/N: Welcome to another first! Haha... ok, so first off, sorry about the delay of this; crazy time in my life what with school, exams, work, and quality time with the (gag) family. Ok, so tonights, as I said, is a first... and only. A while back, I asked a friend for an idea of something I've never done before. And what was this bright idea?-- a story written in first person. Way out of my comfort zone for fanfiction-- I don't mind writing in first person on original stories, but I'm always scared to on fanfiction, because I don't want to totally botch the characters. So I ask, pleadingly even... to tell me what you think of this first person story... even if it is confirming my suspicians to keep with my third person. Oh-- another thing... I just wanted to mention this. I have started a special Christmas one shot... though it'll be much longer than my normal one shots. It's called 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'... so that's just a little sneek into the future! (oh right, and just a note to a comment/question people have asked; though it does 'say' this 'story' is complete, i will continue to update regularly unless otherwise posted) Enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: My Brother  
Genre: Suspense and a small amount of angst thrown in for good measure.  
Summary: Written in first person from Sam's point of view as Dean takes him to the fair, and Sam goes on a ferris wheel ride that neither Winchester will ever forget._

My Brother

Since I could remember Dean had always been there for me. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing I'll never know, and being a ten year old I know it could be a while before I'll actual realize whether big brothers are good or bad. Dad was gone for the weekend on another hunt, and left Dean in charge of me; like I can't take care of myself.

'_You burnt your finger on the toaster the last time you used it!'_ Dean had playfully teased.

It was true… but only because my hand slipped.

Usually when Dad left, Dean would just hang around the house, and I'd read in my room. This time was different though-- the fair was in town and Dean promised to take me to it! I was so excited, so thrilled that we could do something that didn't have to do with demons or spirits. The first ride I wanted to go on was the Ferris Wheel; it was so big, and I'd get to see all of the fair grounds! Dean refused to go on it, but told me to go by myself.

That's when it started. That damned cold feeling that forms in the pit of my stomach. I remember it happening two years ago-- the day that Dean got hit by a car. And as the Ferris Wheel went up and up, and I sat alone inside the large, swinging basket, the cold feeling crept inside of me. Suddenly a loud crack echoed through the ride, and a jolt sent me cracking against the bar holding me in.

"No…" I whispered as a chorus of screams floated up to me; of course I had to be at the top.

I didn't scream though; I left that for everyone else there as my knuckles turned white holding onto the bar. Immediately I stared down through the ride to the ground bellow, struggling to find my big brother, and wishing dearly that he was sitting beside me. Somehow Dean always made everything seem ok-- no matter what was happening I felt safe with him.

"Dean," at first my voice barely made it to my own ears, "_Dean!_"

The second cry out was louder.

Again, I leaned over as far as possible to see down. The sky was getting dark and cloudy, and I could hear the distant sound of thunder. Everything bellow me seemed so small-- I never realized how high up I was. There was a couple bellow me; a small kid around my age and an older person. The young kid was crying that he wanted to get off, and the older person was trying to calm him down. Somehow this made me more panicked, and I struggled desperately to find Dean in the growing crowd bellow.

"Come on Dean…" the whispered plea was useless.

Finally-- there he was! When we'd first walked into the fair grounds, there was a stand selling balloons. All I had to do was put on my best puppy dog look, Dean bought me one for a full fifty cents, and I immediately cherished the helium filled piece of plastic. Before going on the ride, Dean took it, and promised to watch it for me. And now I saw… so far down… a red balloon. It was Dean, I knew it was.

"Dean!" I called out again.

Just seconds after I did so, another loud crack came from the ride, followed by a jolt, sending me backwards, and the ride swinging nauseatingly. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing, at that point, that I was on a hunt instead.

Anything would be better than sitting on a ride seemingly thousands of feet up in the air surrounded by screams of terrified passengers. Without even realizing it, I found tears coming to my eyes, and threaten to leak down. Just as I was beginning to gain control of myself, another loud noise pierced the air.

Only this time was different.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere, and everything turned dark. The power was cut off from everything, and all lights were dimmed, and rides stopped. My breath caught in my throat as, surprisingly, silence filled the air. Everything seemed dark; the sky, the ride, and the grounds.

Then slowly, as if knowing what was happening, I looked to my right and saw a bright red balloon float by and disappear above me.

"Dean," I whispered out.

Before I could even move, or barely think, I looked over to the empty seat beside me, and saw a white mist start to form into a shape of something not quite human.

"No," my voice caught harshly in my throat, "No… I know what you are."

"And I know what you are," the voice was slow and deep, and I couldn't tell if it was masculine or feminine,, "You're one of _them_."

The fact that I was talking to a spirit, or whatever it was, left as curiosity filled me, "One of who?"

"Them," the mist floated in and out of the seat I was clutching, "Be warned Sammy… one day… we will come for you."

"Wait--" I gasped.

But it was too late. The thing disappeared just as another loud crack erupted from the sky, shaking the Ferris Wheel and jolting me back to reality as I again clutched the bar, squeezing my eyes shut. I hadn't even realized that the tears had now snuck out and were sliding effortlessly down my face. The kid bellow me was screaming and crying louder than I thought possible, and it wasn't until I felt a jolt of the ride moving again that I opened my eyes.

It happened so slowly! The lights were back on in the whole fair grounds, but dark clouds in the sky let out ominous warning with random cracks of thunder and flashes of lightening. From my vantage point, I could see they were telling people to leave, and when I looked down, I noticed they were unloading my ride. Each person got off seemingly in slow motion, and it took forever for me to be able to see the people around me. There was two cars left before mine when I finally caught sight of Dean.

"Dean!" I cried out instantly, the sight of him becoming the best thing I knew I'd seen in a long time.

"Sammy!" Dean called out over the clamor of people.

He tried to get closer, but a man in a uniform stopped him. Any other time, I knew, Dean would have plowed through, but both of us knew that if he did that now, we'd be separated. And I'd never forgive Dean if he left me now.

'_It's ok_.'

Dean mouthed the words to me, and I nodded my head in understanding. I must have looked more scared and upset than I thought because Dean didn't take his eyes off of me the whole time I was waiting. Finally the Ferris Wheel jolted to a stop with me at the bottom and a kind man came over to me.

"Are you hurt?" he asked unhinging the bar.

I could still feel the throbbing in my left arm from when I jammed it into the side, but I shook my head nevertheless.

"No," I whispered out, "My-my brother is waiting for me."

Again I must have looked more scared than I thought as the man took hold of my shaking hand and turn towards the growing crowd of anxious people. Dean stood near the front, his eyes wide and filled with fear and worry.

"That guy right there?" the man asked pointing to Dean.

"Yes," I eagerly nodded, "That's Dean."

"Go ahead."

Immediately I ran the less than six feet to Dean who grabbed me in his arms. For a moment I stood shaking in Dean's arms. My big brother was never one to allow any sort of sappy moments to happen between him and anyone else, so I was surprised by the fact that he didn't instantly push me away.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was hoarse and hard to hear as he pulled himself away from me, "Come here."

He took my hand firmly in his, and lead me away from all of the people and onto a small clearing of grass. Almost instantly a loud crack of thunder erupted out, and rain started to pour down. Dean brushed away the wet hair that stuck to my forehead.

"Sammy," he repeated, "Are you alright?"

I nodded, Dean's hand on the side of my face.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, studying my eyes and my reaction.

That's what fascinated me about Dean. He could tell just by looking at me if I was hurting, if I was faking, or if something was really wrong. Sometimes he knew better than me, which Dad would always laugh about.

"I'm not hurt," I finally spoke.

Wordlessly Dean pulled me into another hug, and I wrapped my arms around him, my face pressing against his wet shirt.

"I was really scared," I whispered.

"So was I Sammy," Dean admitted back just as quietly.

I was going to tell Dean about what happened at the top of the Ferris Wheel. I had every intention of doing just that, but for some reason I didn't. I couldn't. But I did realize one thing as my brother and I walked out of the fair grounds; the rain soaking right through our clothing.

Big brothers were a pretty good thing to have.

The End.


	38. Nature Sucks

_Disclaimer: Fred said no, and she's my better half, so I'll have to go with her..._

_A/N: Haha... you all haven't been to thrilled with my stories so far I see... Uhh-- bad news; this one won't be much better. It's a one shot that was written many ions ago; and the title-- haha... the title came when I showed the one shot to Windy Fontaine, and she was naming off 'stupid' titles for what the story could be... and I kept it. The story is pretty simple... nothing special, but it should make you laugh at some points. Well, enjoy!! _

* * *

_Title: Nature Sucks  
Genre: Action... little suspense and angst.  
Summary: Sam and Dean are lost in the woods, and after a pack of wolves attack at them, they become seperated._

Nature Sucks

"That was close man," Sam breathed hard.

"Too close," Dean agreed, sparing a look towards his little brother, "You ok?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah, are you?"

"Fine," Dean looked around in the woods and yelled out loudly, "Let that be a lesson to all you other fricken werewolves!"

Sam laughed, "So which way to the car smart ass?"

"Good question," Dean pondered this a moment, "My guess it," he pointed in the vague general direction in front of them, "That way."

"Great," Sam frowned, "You lost the car."

"I didn't loose the car," Dean objected, "…I lost _us_."

Sam tried, unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.

"Aww don't worry about it Sammy," Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, "It's nice out. Not like we'll freeze."

"No, but we haven't eaten since this morning," Sam reminded, "And since you lost us, food is on the top of my list of needs right now."

A sudden rustle from the brush to their right stopped any reply that Dean was about to say. Both brothers stared as, not even twenty feet away, three large wolves emerged growling from the bush.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "Those aren't werewolves."

"Yeah, thank you discovery channel," Dean shot out, "Sam, I have no more bullets left."

"Ok," Sam took a step back, only to have the wolves take many paces towards him, "I have a knife."

"So?" Dean looked at Sam, panic beginning to grow in his eyes and voice, "There's three of them Sammy, one knife is going to do nothing but piss them off."

Sam took a deep breath and pulled out the long bladed knife from his belt rim. The wolves were now mere feet from them growling loudly; the full moon reflecting off their eyes ominously.

"Dean," Sam's voice stood sturdy as he gripped the knife.

"What?"

Sam swallowed hard, "Run."

"What?!" Dean's voice pierced the air.

"_Run!_" Sam cried out as the wolves pounced at them.

Dean felt a sharp claw catch his back painfully as he took off running. The branches and twigs from the less than explored woods cut at his face and hands, but he kept running; all the while assuming Sam was right behind him, but he was wrong.

Sam was gone.

"Sam," Dean panted out after he finally stopped, "_Sammy!_"

All that answered the older brother was silence.

'_Oh God!_' Dean's mind screamed out, '_Why didn't I make sure he was there with me!?_'

Slowly Dean began to back track; the cut on his back stinging with every step he took. Tree after tree passed him, and after five minutes he had no idea if he was even remotely close to the same area that he'd last seen his brother.

"Perfect!" Dean cried out into the night air, "Just fricken perfect!"

A sudden thought occurred to Dean and he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. With slightly shaking hands he scrolled down to Sam's number and dialed. Five rings passed before his little brother's voice mail clicked in. But Dean had also noticed something else.

"His ring…" Dean mumbled to himself, and pressed the small 'redial' button, this time holding the phone away from him.

The familiar Nokia tune echoed in the night air. It was the same jingle that played in Jurassic Park, and Dean hated it. Which was exactly why Sam had it as his ring. Slowly Dean made his way through the brush, straining his ears for the tune that played out. The older Winchester had to redial the number three times before he finally got to a small clearing and saw the cell phone sitting unoccupied on the ground.

"Sam!" Dean called out, "Sammy answer me!"

Again no answer came, and Dean felt his heart beat quicken and a mass of butterflies quickly forming inside of him. The next five minutes passed by in an anxious blur as Dean walked through the woods, listening for any sign of his brother or the wolves.

"Something's wrong," Dean spoke quietly to himself, "Damn it, something's wrong."

The thought of calling authorities in passed through Dean's mind, but he figured he'd look for at least another ten minutes before self incriminating himself.

"_Sammy!!_" his brother's name had begun to loose meaning as each tree seemed to be like the last one.

Dean was just about to shout out Sam's name again when a voice echoed through the forest.

"Dean…" it was from quite a ways in front of him, but the voice was familiar.

"Sam," Dean whispered at first before calling out, "_Sam!_"

"_Dean!_"

It was like a vicious game of Marco-Polo as Dean frantically tried to follow his brothers calling.

"Sam, keep talking!" Dean yelled out, his voice cracking.

"Dean!" Sam's voice continued to yell the same word.

The voice was getting louder, and as Dean looked around in all directions he still saw no sign of his little brother. Just the dark leaves splashed in random moon light.

"Sam, move around or something!" Dean called out.

A loud rustling came from not twenty feet in front of him followed by Sam's words, "Dude, you suck at this game!"

Dean gave a relieved laugh as he entered a small clearing to see Sam standing there. The relief quickly swept to panic as he saw the whole front of Sam's shirt covered in blood that trailed up his arms.

"Sammy…" Dean's eyes widened.

"It's fine," Sam insisted, his voice breaking from yelling, "Most of it isn't mine."

Dean breathed deep and took a step forward, placing a hand on the side of Sam's face, "Dude… you do that again…"

"Hey," Sam forced a smile, "I saved your ass."

"Yeah, well leave my ass alone next time," Dean smirked, "Save yours. You could have gotten yourself killed Sammy!"

"But I didn't," Sam assured him.

"Are you ok?" Dean squinted to see his brothers face clearly as a cloud moved partially over the moon.

"Yeah," Sam nodded his head, "One of them caught me in the stomach. But it's fine. What about you? I heard you yell as you ran off."

"Yeah," Dean felt the moisture from blood on his back, "One of them tried to jump me. But--" he sighed as he realized one worry was out of his mind, "Man… we're still so fricken lost."

"Ahh, but I solved that," Sam spoke triumphantly as he walked to the edge to the clearing.

"Oh?" Dean followed.

Sam laughed, "The car found us."

Dean grinned widely as he stepped through the clearing and looked at the precious image of his 1967 black Impala.

"Oh man!" Dean patted the hood, "I missed you baby."

"What about me?" Sam joked stepping in behind Dean.

Dean flashed a grin at Sam, "You're not quite my type."

The End.


	39. One Shot

_Disclaimer: This is the part where I say no in a cool, funny and original way. _

_A/N: Howdy. Haha... who would have ever thought I'd write a one shot called 'One Shot'... well, I did. I wrote it quite a few months ago, and it's got nothing to do with anything supernatural. But it is a pretty ok one shot, that I hope y'all will enjoy. So sally forth! _

* * *

_Title: One Shot  
Genre: Yeah... angst.  
Summary: It started with the brothers walking into a corner store late into the night... and before anyone knew what happened, a man in a mask tried to hold up the place, and Sam was on the floor, shot in the chest._

One Shot

Dean watched. That's all he could do as his breath stopped abruptly in his throat, and his heart nearly stopped. The cold feeling didn't even have time to form in his stomach, and his body went straight to being completely numb.

Coffee.

It was three in the morning, and Dean had been burning the candle at both ends to get to a small town outside of Denver before dawn. Sam had been sleeping awkwardly against the car window, and Dean debated whether he would wake his brother when going into the store to get some coffee. He needed the caffeine, but more importantly, since knowing about Sam's foreshadowed future, he needed to always keep an eye on Sam. So he woke up Sammy.

To get a God damn drink.

7-11 was famed for being open at all hours of the night, and was also famed for being robbed at those vulnerable hours. Dean paid no attention to these statistics-- after all, they were just running in to get a quick cup of coffee and maybe a chocolate bar or something. Dean remembered as he walked in he noticed the man with a hood hovering near the cashier, and internally cussed as he realized he wasn't carrying his gun on him. It didn't matter though, they wouldn't be in there long.

Sam was standing half asleep near the checkout sifting through some magazines with a bottle of pop in one hand as Dean stood nearly twenty feet away filling the largest cup he could find with the liquid gold. Sam's shout of '_hey!_' was followed quickly by the pop of a gun with a silencer on it.

That's when Dean spun around, the coffee falling to the ground as he watched.

Sam now lay on the ground, motionless, his back to Dean. It all seemed so sudden-- the split second of making sure that he put the right amount of sugar in his coffee to watching his precious little brother fall down dead to the ground.

"Sammy…" words escaped Dean's mouth and he took a step towards the fallen body.

"Even _think_ about moving towards him, and the next bullet goes through your head," the man with the hood turned around, and Dean noticed he now had a mask on as well.

Dean wasn't about to argue with the words so instead stood still and let his heart beat furiously behind his leather jacket.

"Empty the register out now," the man turned his attention to the cashier who couldn't have been more than seventeen, "And if you even _think_ of trying anything, I'll shoot you too."

"O-Ok," the kid stuttered and with a small 'ding' he opened up the register.

"Nice and easy," the masked man smiled behind his mask, "We don't want to get anyone's attention with this. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner you can get this asshole to the morgue."

A low hissing laugh came from his concealed face, and Dean would have jumped him if it weren't for the fact that the gun was still pointed at his head, and the fact that his body, at that moment, was refusing to do anything but breath and concentrate on one thought.

'_Sammy's dead!_'

"Got anything else back there?" the man asked as the cashier handed him a bag filled with money.

"N-No, that's it, I swear," tears came down the kids face.

"Good," he turned towards Dean, "I'll be seeing you."

One step was taken before it happened. In one flash, one instant, the lives of everyone in the small convenience store changed. No one knew it would happen-- no one saw it coming. All the masked man had to do was leave the store. The scared cashier had completely forgotten about the untouched silent alarm under the counter, and so the robber was home free. If it wasn't for one thing.

Sam's arm shot out and grabbed the leg of the hooded fiend, who immediately fell forwards, cracking his head with a solid 'thunk' against the counter. He'd no more gotten out a pain filled moan than Dean had pounced at him, digging his foot securely into robber's back. Holding him down, Dean reached down and took the gun from his hand.

"Call the police!" Dean ordered the stunned cashier.

"O-Ok."

Dean stared in awe down at Sam, who had rolled onto his back, and was taking deep breaths while slowly unzipping his sweater. Wanting nothing more than to check his brother out, Dean knew he also couldn't risk letting the hooded man up.

Slowly the elder brother bent down so as his head was right near the man's, "This is for shooting my brother."

A solitary crack to the side of the head with the handle of the gun was all it took to cause the robber to be unconscious on the ground.

"Sammy," Dean rushed over, and collapsed down to his knees near Sam, "… Sammy…"

"Give… me… a second," Sam breathed painfully, his eyes closed.

Dean's face scrunched up in anguish and worry. He didn't understand it-- he saw Sam get shot at close range, and yet there was no blood anywhere. A burnt hole in the front of Sam's blue t-shirt showed the bullet hole directly over where his heart was.

"Sammy, please let me look," Dean whispered out.

Sam opened his eyes, a small smile washing over his lips, "That's another one… we owe B-Bobby…"

"What are you talking about Sam?" Dean's voice was hoarse.

Sam pulled up his shirt to reveal what looked like a bullet proof vest on underneath. Dean collapsed fully to the ground and covered his face with his hand.

"_You boys take these,"_ Bobby's words floated in Dean's head, "_You never know what you'll run into out there."_

Dean had though the vests were stupid, and shoved them in the trunk. Sam, on the other hand, was fascinated with them, and put one on to see what they were like. That was early in the afternoon, and Dean had long since forgot about it.

Until now.

"Thank God," Dean finally whispered out, uncovering his face, and looking down at Sam.

"Dean," Sam grunted out, and started to sit up, "Are you ok?"

"Take it easy Sam!" Dean demanded.

Sam nodded and sat on the ground just feet away from the man that had caused so much trouble. The sound of sirens could now be heard off in the distance.

"I'm fine Sammy," Dean spoke, and could feel the tears which he refused to let loose, "But dude… you could have died."

"Not the first time," Sam grinned out.

"God I hate you," Dean laughed quietly and looked down, "I swear you're fricken going to kill me before anything else does."

Dean stood to wobbly feet, and reached a hand down to Sam with a firm '_Go slow_'. Once to his feet, Dean held tightly onto his little brother's arm, not wanting to let go at any point in the near future.

"Are you alright Sammy?" Dean breathed out.

Sam nodded his head, "Yeah."

Dean swallowed hard, "Good."

"Wow," the cashier walked around the counter and looked down at the man on the floor and then up at the Winchester brothers, "That was unbelievable."

"Thanks," Dean shot out a grin, "We try."

"If there's anything I can do for you guys-- _anything_," the cashier looked sincerely at them, "Just name it."

Dean pondered this a moment, giving a sideways look at Sam, and then out into the parking lot to his car, "Yeah… I could really use some coffee..."

The End.


	40. Dean Winchester

_Disclaimer: Someday... who the hell am I kidding?-- no._

_A/N: God life sucks. Yeah, on a stress meter from one to ten, I think I'm at an eleven right now. But that's ok-- things'll get better I'm sure. This one shot was one from quite a while ago that was one of my chapters which I posted then deleted. So some of you may remember it. It completes a little thing I was doing... I now have a story with each family members name; story 14 is 'Sammy', story 24 is 'Papa Winchester', story 35 is 'Mary', and now this one is called 'Dean Winchester'. So yeah... I apologize for my lagging in posting... and I hope you read, review and enjoy. (oh right... this is also a request story for the aftermath of the fight with Gordon from season two 'Hunted'.) _

* * *

_Title: Dean Winchester  
Genre: Angst.  
Summary: After the fight with Gordon, Sam expects Dean to click in to worried big brother mode. What he doesn't expect is to find him broken and distant._

Dean Winchester

Sam stood staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was messy and wet from being towel tried after his shower. A large bruise was forming on his left eye, and the cut on his lip bleed slowly down his unshaven chin. A number of other bruises would come in, he knew, but they had yet to show themselves. Sam was sure Dean would point it out as soon as they did. Sam had on a pair of jeans, though his torso was without cover, and he noted a nasty bruise coming on across his stomach. He tried to remember where that one came from, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was from Gordon.

Sam hated to admit it-- he almost lost that fight. It was too close for comfort, and the only thing that kept him fighting was the knowledge of Dean tied up in the other room. Sam knew about the wires that were booby-trapping the door, and he knew it wouldn't be hard to set them off without getting hurt. Though when that went through his mind, his heart squeezed; Dean would think, even if for only twenty seconds, that his little brother was dead. Sam knew there was no worse thought for Dean, and that's what made him fight. That's what made him take over Gordon and win the fight.

Though, he knew, continuing to look at his battered body, not without consequences. After going to Ava's place and finding her fiancé dead, Dean had insisted they leave, and that Sam get some sleep. Adrenaline was wearing off, and by that time Sam was hurting both inside and out pretty badly. Dean, thankfully, looked to be in ok condition, and was oddly quiet towards Sam. When Dean pulled the black Impala into the cruddy motel, he insisted on bringing in all the bags, and told Sam to take a shower.

Now Sam stood in the steamed up bathroom waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn't sure, just waiting. A smile came to his lips as Sam realized that Dean was probably doing the same thing out in the extremely small living area. No doubt with the first aid kit sitting near him, and an anxious look on his face. Sam hated it sometimes-- Dean and his overprotective big brother routine. But it was who Dean was, the man hated seeing Sam get hurt. And after those twenty seconds of hell the elder brother must have went through, there was no doubt in Sam's mind that he was going to lay it on thick as soon as he walked out the bathroom door.

The door was unlocked as either brother always did after a rough fight, and Sam opened it easily; his dirty and blood stained clothes in hand. Almost immediately after opened the door and stepping out, Dean walked by, his face to the ground. He had a handful of clean clothes, and without even looking at Sam shut the bathroom door with a resounded click of the lock.

"Dean?" Sam called out, "Hey Dean, are you ok?"

There was no reply but the sound of the shower turning on, and Sam was left standing stupidly by the door. Over the course of the half hour Dean was inside the shower, Sam's heart beat quickened steadily. The same sentence of '_something's wrong!_' kept running through his head, and by the time the sound of the water stopped, the younger brother had fully convinced himself that it was true. Maybe Gordon had hurt him worse than Sam thought.

"Why'd you lock the door Dean…" Sam muttered as he glanced over at the still shut door from his vantage point on the bed.

It took another fifteen minutes before the door opened and Dean stepped out. The older brother glanced at Sam for a long moment before moving over to his bed, and shoving his own dirty clothes away in a bag. He sat wordlessly, his back to Sam.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was quiet and unsure.

"Sammy," Dean managed to choke out.

The next thing that happened proved through and through that they were brothers, as each of them pivoted on the bed, turned to each other and asked at the same time, "Are you ok?"

Sam smirked and looked down at his hands, "You first, man."

Dean ran his hand across his face staring at Sam for another long moment, "I don't know Sammy…"

Sam felt a lurch in his stomach. The look in Dean's eyes was far away, and lost. Sam thought Dean looked gone; his soul ripped apart, and it terrified him to think that his Dean Winchester wasn't going to be there for him anymore.

"Dean please," Sam felt a lump form in his throat, though he wasn't entirely sure why, "…please talk to me."

Dean took a deep breath, and spoke monotone, "When I was sitting in that chair Gordon was telling me things. Talking about you, and how there were others like you. He'd tell me that he- he _had_ to kill you-- talked like he was doing the world a favor. Like he was doing me a favor. The whole time I was just thinking… that he can't be talking about you. It couldn't be you." Dean's breath quivered, "And then we heard you. I knew what he did-- with the trap at the door. And all I could do was wait. I swear to God when I heard the explosions--" Dean stopped, again washing his hand over his face.

"Dean--" Sam started.

"No," Dean shook his head, interrupting, "Let me finish. Gordon went in there with the gun… I guess to-- finish you off? I remember sitting there waiting-- feeling nothing as every fricken memory with your ass in it came back to me. Then I heard you yell '_Put it down now_', and seriously man… best words ever."

"You're done?" Sam asked quietly, and at Dean's feeble nod continued, "I didn't mean to scare you Dean, I swear. And I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything," Dean still looked more upset than Sam cared to see him.

"Dean please don't do this," Sam found himself begging now, "I'm ok-- I'm not going anywhere. Remember? As long as you're around, nothing bad can happen to me."

"And when I'm not?" Dean looked up, his eyes swimming with tears which refused to fall.

"Dean don't talk like that," Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "Dad didn't die so that we'd just give up-- so that you'd just give up. We just have to keep going. But--" Sam felt a single tear roll it's way down his right cheek, "Dean… I can't keep going unless I know you're there with me…"

Dean stared down at the ground before laughing quietly, "Dude… this is way too after school special for me."

Sam echoed the laugh and took a deep breath in, "Yeah. But seriously Dean--"

Dean looked straight up and nodded, "Alright. Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam smiled, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Gordy wasn't quite the physical type with me," Dean got up and sat down beside Sam, "You, on the other hand."

"I'll be alright," Sam shrugged.

"Not getting away that easily Sammy," Dean turned Sam's face towards him and he looked critically at the bruises and cuts, "You look like crap."

Dean got off the bed and took two large steps to his bag, grabbing the familiar first aid kit. Big brother mode clicked into overdrive as he then went to the small bar fridge and took out a bottle of water, and snatched the aspirin off the end table.

"Here," Dean popped the cap off, took out two pills and handed them to Sam along with the water, "Take these. They'll help you sleep better tonight."

Sam gratefully accepted the pills and water and said softly, "Thank you Dean."

"Shut-up Sam before I miss," Dean smirked taking out an alcohol swab and slowly started to clean a cut on Sam's face.

Sam smiled, and looked at Dean's face. His eyes shone brightly, and full of determined life again. The familiar lump returned to Sam's throat, though this time he knew why. Dean Winchester was back.

The End.


	41. Jim Rockford

_Disclaimer: If you review like crazy, I promise I'll make these guys mine, and do whatever you want... muahahaha! _

A/N: Haha-- I'm in an awesome mood right now... mainly because school is over for this semester, and so I have nothing to worry about for a couple of weeks. Anyways, sorry it took me a bit to write another one shot... and this one is one that I just wrote today a couple of hours ago. It's sort of like my 'Funkytown' one, where I explain something that they said on the show. In this case it's the background story for Sam and Dean using the name Jim Rockford and the first hotel in the phonebook to find each other. It was just an idea I thought up last night driving through the park trying to miss Bullwinkle... enjoy!

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Title: Jim Rockford  
Genre: Kindda angsty I guess.  
Summary: Just perfect!-- Sam is gone, and Dean has no clue as to how to find him... it's a good thing his little brother was a weird child...

Jim Rockford

Dean stared down at his hands and laughed in desperate disbelief. In his right hand was his phone; black, sleek and a flip-open. In his left hand was Sammy's phone; a phone which was large screened and could do more things than Dean could count. Dean held the phones, and Sam had taken the bag; holding the chargers for the phones.

The phones were dead.

Sam was missing.

Dean shook the cold feeling that was forming inside him; Sam wasn't really _missing_. The two brother's had just become separated from each other in a less than friendly manner. Whenever they were on a hunt, the Winchester's made a point of staying with each other, or knowing exactly where the other person was. The large warehouse proved to be a difficult place to do this in as while on the fourth floor, Sam's six foot four body fell through the floorboards.

_"Sammy!" _

Dean remembered the frantic few moments after seeing his little brother's amazing disappearing act.

_"Sammy!" _

"Dean…" Sam's pain-filled moan echoed up from the grounds bellow.

"Sam, are you ok?!" Dean fell to his stomach to try and inch closer to the gapping hole.

"I think so," Sam's voice showed different than his words, "Just keep going! I have the gun still; I'll meet you outside!" 

Dean's flashlight had thrown Sam into view, and Dean had seen him get to his feet and hobble away. Just to be sure, Dean had gone down to that floor, and found nothing but Sam's phone laying on the ground. Dean continued to find nothing as he had toured the building; even the shadow ghost they'd been after was gone.

Unfortunately so was Sam. And even more achingly, all the events happened over twenty-four hours ago, and Dean had yet to hear from Sam. Choosing to stay in the same town, Dean had traveled around during the day, slowly, in hopes of spotting Sam somewhere. All was to no avail, and Dean was seriously considering reliving the nightmare from that which the Bender's had caused, and call the police. The elder brother had long ago called the hospitals and morgues; the most nerve wracking calls of his life, and neither had anybody with Sam's description.

"The hotels," Dean sighed walking out of his own hotel room, "If this doesn't work Sammy, then I give up."

The idea to look through all the hotels wasn't an new one. In fact, Dean had called each and every one of them, but knowing that Sam wouldn't use his real name if he did check in, made it near impossible to find out anything. Even _with_ Dean's smooth talking. If he could look at the list of names, Dean prayed, maybe he'd be able to find an alias that they used…

"Hi gorgeous," Dean flashed his million dollar smile to the _far_ less than gorgeous lady behind the counter.

It was the fourth hotel that Dean had been to, and it was the most Dean had to bite his tongue on seducing the person working behind the counter. And that was including the forty-something year old guy at the last place.

"Hiya," the 'pleasantly plump' lady grinned a yellow smile back at Dean, "What can I do for ya?"

_'Shower!'_ Dean choked back.

"You see," Dean stole a look at her nametag, "…Babes? Umm-- I'm looking for my brother. Little twerp ran off, and I've been looking for him for a while now."

Babes leaned onto the counter; her sagging chest resting against the grimy linoleum countertop, "And how can I help you there darl'n?"

Dean took a deep breath, "I know my brother-- he's just playing games, and our parent's anniversary is today, and I need to get him there. If I could just have a look at your check-in list, I'm sure I could figure out what name he's using this time to check into the hotel."

Babes stared at Dean a long, luscious minute before whispering out, "Speaking of names…"

Dean forced his smile back on, "My name is Sam, and I swear, if you let me look at that list of yours, I'll give you my name, number, and--" Dean shivered internally, "…anything else you want."

Wordlessly Babes pushed over the coil bound booklet and Dean eagerly began to scan down the names.

"C'mon Sammy…" Dean whispered out, his heart thumping as he read through the names, "Tyler, Frank… Smith, Johnson… Rockford, Jim."

Dean's heart leapt into this throat at the last name he read. A PI show buff when he was younger, Sam had always loved watching the shoot-em up good guy and bad guy shows, and the 'Rockford Files' was one in particular the youngest brother would watch. Dean would tease him, and make fun of his little brother to no end, but now it was the most beautiful thing in the world to see the name on the piece of paper.

"Room B-12," Dean breathed out before rushing frantically to the door.

"Wait!" Babes yelled, "What about your number?"

"Right!" Dean skidded to a stop, and went back to Babes. Quickly he wrote a number on a piece of paper, shoved it at her, and bolted out the door, "Thanks!"

The hotel was two stories, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the B's would be on the second one. Dean couldn't remember the last time he moved so fast when something wasn't chasing him, but within seconds the elder brother had made it to the door with the small marking 'B-12' on it.

"Please Sam," Dean whispered pausing outside the door, "Please be in there…"

With a shaking hand, Dean banged hard on the door.

"_Sammy!?_"

There was a large crash inside, then a thump before Dean heard the door being unlocked. The door flew open, and Dean immediately closed his eyes and felt his body weaken at the sight of Sam's anxious face staring at him.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, his eyes, in contrast to Dean's, were wide.

"Dude, I hate you," Dean breathed out in barely a whisper.

His first instinct was to clock Sam upside the head; the Winchester family version of a hug. He backed away from this idea, however, as he took in Sam's appearance. The younger had a large bruise covering not only his whole left eye, but most of the left size of his face. There was a bandage clearly covering the lower part of his right arm, and Dean was willing to bet that when Sam moved, it wouldn't be without some sort of hobble or limp.

"What happened?" Dean's voice cracked out.

Sam glanced around before grabbing Dean's arm, and pulling him inside, "Come on."

Inside, Dean immediately went to the closest seat and collapsed down, forcing the emotions which had been surging through him for the past thirty hours not to come out in a way that would show how truly worried and scared he'd been. It was obvious that Sam knew as he pulled up his own chair and sat in front of Dean.

"Dean, are you ok?" Sam asked softly.

Dean looked up at his brother's dark eyes and took another deep breath, "Yeah, I'll be ok. How 'bout you?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked the question again.

"The shadow demon we were after?"

"Uh huh?" Dean nodded.

"It found me," Sam grinned at the same time Dean grimaced, "Son of a bitch was strong, so it took me a while to get rid of it, and get away. By the time I got back outside, the car was gone."

Guilt rushed through Dean, "God… I'm sorry Sammy."

Sam shook his head, "It's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have left," Dean mumbled.

"Shut up," Sam laughed, "If you're going to feel guilty about something, feel guilty about the fact that you never made a back-up plan about what the hell to do if this ever happened. Instead I've been sitting here for the past day and a half wondering were the hell you are."

This got a smile out of Dean, "Dude, what the hell do you think I've been doing the whole time?"

Sam avoided his eye contact and forced himself not to laugh at the immature thoughts bouncing around in his head.

"Grow up," Dean rolled his eyes, and got to his feet; smacking Sam on the back as he walked by, "Just be glad that you were a weird kid, or I'd have never found you."

"I just went to the first hotel in the phone book," Sam explained his method as he followed Dean into the kitchenette, "I was thinking that if you were the least bit systematical, then you'd start there."

"You know me well," Dean spoke sarcastically, pouring himself some coffee.

Sam took a long breath and looked at Dean's paled face, "You sure you're alright?"

Dean nodded, "I'm fine, but I swear I need to get a leash for you."

"Hilarious," Sam spoke dryly before continuing, "Oh right. Next card we get needs to buy me a new phone. I lost mine somewhere in the warehouse."

Wordlessly Dean pulled his brother's phone out of his pocket, and handed it to Sam; all the while guzzling down the liquid gold from a no doubt dirty cup.

"Nice," Sam grinned, inspecting it, "Thanks."

Dean laughed as he placed the cup back on the counter, "Just a heads up Sammy… you're probably gonna get a call on there from some chick named Babes…"

The End.


	42. Close Call

_Disclaimer: I almost didn't write this tonight, so there almost wasn't me finding a new way to say no... damn huh? _

A/N: So yeah... it was a close call tonight as to whether I was gonna post anything today. And it's currently 3:09am, and I haven't gone to sleep yet, so I still do count it as 'today'. But I was looking through all the requests which I've got accumulated (told ya I've kept them all), and found a request that for some reason sparked my muse in the middle of the night. It was the idea of a longer strangulation in the episode 'Home' in season one. So I went at it, and wrote a smaller, but still pretty good, story. I seem to be better at angst, and limp!Sam worried!Dean during the wee hours of the night. Who would'a thunk? Enjoy!

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Title: Close Call  
Genre: Dude... this is like pure angst...  
Summary: A request one shot! What would have happened in the episode 'Home' if Sam's strangulation from the electrical cord was just a little longer... and the risk was just a little higher? Very limp!Sam, worried!Dean.

Close Call

Dean ran to the door and looked into the room; his insides immediately running cold. Sam laid on the floor, his hands desperately clutching at the cord which was wrapped around his neck, strangling any life out of him.

"Sam!" Dean cried out running over and collapsing to his knees by his brother, pulling at the cord, "Sam…"

The hunter's strength was no match for whatever demon or poltergeist was attacking them, and, with one final grunt, Dean gave up. Everything passed in a worry and angst filled blur as Dean then grabbed the bag of herbs and rushed to the wall. With a solid kick from his foot, Dean broke a hole, shoved the small bag in, and covered his head from the burst of energy. It looked to finally be over.

Then Dean caught sight of Sam.

"_Sammy!_" Dean's voice caught in his throat as he made a large leap to Sam.

The youngest Winchester lay on the ground, the electrical cord still tightly around his neck. Sam wasn't moving at all, and the strangled breath which had been forcing its way out before was now gone along with any sign of life.

"No, no, no," Dean breathed, frantically grabbing at the cord, "Sam! Sam, _no_!"

The cord finally slipped off, and Dean tossed it aside while holding onto the limp Sam. Through the dim light, Dean could see his lips tinged blue, and his eyes slit open slightly staring at nothing. Dean's breath caught painfully in his chest as he froze for what seemed like an eternity. His brother's dead weight was cradled in his arms, and Dean's mind raced with the thoughts and realization of what had happened.

"No," Dean whispered again before determination bubbled up in him, "Sam… Sam!"

Using more force than he knew he probably should, Dean smacked the side of his little brother's face in an attempt to rouse his sibling from his stillness.

"Sammy, c'mon man… c'mon," Dean tapped more lightly now, "Don't do this dude… don't. _Wake up_."

The red marks around his neck were dark and harsh, and Dean found his own hand touching the wound lightly. Cringing, Dean forced himself to swallow, and to think clearly; he couldn't let Sam die! Not in the same place that tried to kill him so many years ago.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was a desperate whisper now, "Please Sammy…"

It had been way too long! With a last ditch effort, Dean gave Sam a firm shake. Almost immediately a large, wavering gasp came from Sam's body.

"Sam!" Dean cried out, readjusting himself so that he could look into Sam's face, "Hey, hey, hey-- don't you _dare_ stop breathing!"

As if following his big brother's orders, another rasping breath came out of Sam, though his eyes still remained closed, and the horrifying thought of 'brain damage' pounded through Dean. How long had Sam been without oxygen?

"C'mon Sammy," Dean kept one hand supporting the upper half of Sam's body, and the other hand now on the side of his face, "…Sam… can you hear me?"

Sam's mouth moved open slightly, but no sound came out; instead the young hunter's eyes opened more, and met Dean's. Dean felt his insides squeeze at the sight of Sam's fear filled eyes that seemed to plead to Dean to help him.

"It's ok Sam," Dean choked on his own words as he pushed some stray hair from the side of Sam's face, "I got you. Just… keep breathing."

The task which would have normally been an easy one was a struggle which lasted nearly a minute before Sam was finally able to keep up a pattern of breathing that Dean was satisfied with.

"Sammy, can you talk?" Dean asked gently.

It took a moment, but finally Sam managed to whisper a reply, "Dean…"

Utmost relief swept through Dean as he closed his eyes in silent thanks. He clutched Sam closer to him, and allowed the feeling of Sam's somewhat even breath to calm his own breathing and heart rate. It was a long moment before Dean allowed himself to let Sam move back a little bit.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was hoarse, "Are you ok?"

Sam paused again before speaking, "Yeah… I-I think…"

"Good," Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, "Just lay still for a couple of minutes."

Again Dean pulled Sam closer, and placed his hand on the back of his little brother's head to help support him more. It had been close-- way too close for Dean, and even more too close for Sammy. Dean could count the number of times that Sam's life had been in serious danger on one hand, and each time Dean promised himself that he'd protect Sam even harder, and never let it happen again. And each time it did. A silent tear came down the elder brother's face as he realized truly how close he came to loosing Sam that night, and again Dean found himself making the same promise.

"You're ok," Dean whispered out rubbing Sam's arm comfortingly, "I promise I'll never let anything happen to you."

The End.


	43. All The Little Things In Life

_Disclaimer: Oh you gotta be kidding me... you see-- THIS is the reason why some day I'll stop writing-- NO! _

A/N: Howdy doodle! Ok, so for tonight's one shot, I dug into my archive of stories (which is finally dwindling), and pulled up a story which I wrote quite some time ago. It's kindda cruddy-- haha-- kindda being an understatement. But it is a story, and does have its moments. I've been in a really 'not feeling up to writing' mood lately, but I vow tomorrow to write like I've never writen before... Haha, I still have to finish my Christmas special one shot, which I'm so excited about. Well-- continue to read, review, and enjoy!! (ps... don't ask about the title... haha... I can only hope I was drunk or something when I named it...)

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Title: All The Little Things In Life  
Genre: Fluffy!  
Summary: Sam's missing after a solo hunt, and all Dean can do is wait and think...

All The Little Things In Life

Dean stared out at the reflective lake in front of him. The water was a crystal, reflective blue from the cloudless sky. The surface was a perfect, glassy finish randomly disrupted with soft ripples from a stray bird or fish coming up. Lush green trees circled the lake, completing the look in a way that would make Norman Rockwell proud. And as Dean leaned against the warm metal surface of his black Impala he knew it would be perfect.

If Sam were there.

The lump started to form again in Dean's throat as he stared glassy-eyed out into the water. It was his fault that Sam wasn't there, he knew that. Early that morning Dean had dropped Sam off at the lake to search for a water demon that had been reported in the area. Sam told his brother that he was going to only go in waste deep in the water with the EMF meter, and to come back in about an hour. That he'd wait by the small gravel parking spot near the edge of the lake.

Dean now stood there over six hours later.

There was no Sam.

Dean had searched the area for hours. At one point he called Sam's cell, and immediately wished he hadn't as he found, abandoned on the shore, his brother's outer shirt, shoes, cell phone, wallet and spare keys for the Impala. Since then all Dean could do was wait. Warm tears burned at his eyes as the last words he spoke to his brother screamed in his head; '_Don't screw it up Sammy_.'. They'd been arguing all morning which was why Sam opted to do the initial scan of the water by himself. Dean wished he hadn't said the words.

Dean swallowed, looking at the calm ripples, when his heart suddenly leapt at the sound of squelching footsteps behind him. Daring to turn around, his breath left his body in a sigh of relief at the sight of his brother, dripping wet and wearing a peeved expression, but gloriously alive.

"Sammy--" Dean took a step back from the car.

A smile came to Sam's face then at the relieved look on his brother's, "Weren't worried about me were you Dean?"

"Damn right I was," Dean didn't feel the need to hide it at that point, "Are you ok? What the hell happened?"

Sam lifted his soaked arms up, and then dropped them sloppily to his sides, "I found it."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened, and he tried to force the tears out of his throat, "The demon? The water demon, you found it?"

Sam pondered the words for a moment, "It found me?"

Dean took a deep breath and washed his hand over his face, "I'm sorry Sam."

"Why?" Sam knew why but took great pleasure at that point in watching his brother squirm under the chick flick moment.

Dean gruffly cleared his throat, "You know. For not helping. For not being here for you."

Sam looked around with a smile, his eyes finally landing on the car, "Looks like you've been _here_ a while."

"Yeah, but your ass hasn't been," Dean glared over at his completely soaked little brother, "…are you hurt?"

Sam pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal two slices going up towards the shoulder, "The thing had teeth."

"God…" Dean took a large step over and took a look at the wound.

"It'll be fine," Sam insisted, "We've seen worse."

"I shouldn't have--" Dean started to apologize again.

"Dude, stop," Sam smiled, "I'm ok. You were an ass, but that's no different from any other time."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, thanks."

Sam stripped off his shirt, dropping the ripped and water soaked clothing to the ground. Dean watched critically as Sam pulled away at some stray seaweed and plants that had clung to his well muscled body. Blood slowly oozed out of the cuts in his upper arm.

"Let me get that," Dean spoke and opened up the trunk.

From inside he grabbed the first aid kit and a towel.

"Here," he tossed Sam the towel, "You aren't stripping any more than that."

Sam laughed and wiped his hair down. He began to wipe down his chest and pad at his jeans when Dean told him to hold still. Sam did as he was told and Dean poured some rubbing alcohol down his arm. Sam hissed out in pain.

"You ok?" Dean asked, trying to determined if the cuts warranted stitches or not.

"Peachy," Sam replied dully, "So what were you doing the whole time you were waiting here?"

"Watching," Dean responded, putting some antiseptic on the cuts.

"Watching what?" Sam smiling knowing his brother was trying to avoid something.

Dean sighed before answering, "The little things."

Sam bit back a comment that would probably earn him a swift smack upside the head, "Like what?"

Dean shrugged, "There were some birds that keep on going at the water. A stupid deer who was constantly getting freaked about something and so couldn't take a drink from the lake. Then there was a--"

"Oh my God," Sam laughed.

"What?" Dean took out some gauze from the bag.

Sam grinned widely, "My brother, in the course of couple of hours, turned into nature boy."

Dean pressed hard on the wound with the sterilized gauze causing Sam to let out a yelping laugh before Dean spoke, "It was either that or wondering were the hell you were."

Sam stood back as his brother finished bandaging him up, "Yeah."

"Gotta admit though," Dean turned his attention back out to the perfect lake, "Out of all those things… I would have done pretty much anything to see you."

Sam smiled and stepped forward to place a hand on Dean's shoulder, forcing a fake sob, "I love you too nature boy."

Dean laughed and shoved Sam's hand off, "Dude, I'm going to throw you _back_ in the lake in about two seconds."

Sam echoed his brothers laugh as he grabbed the towel, opening the passenger door of the Impala to lay it down, "Lets hit the road. I'm beat."

"Ok," Dean took one last look at his brother before rounding the car, "So how the hell did you get rid of the thing?"

Sam spoke as Dean got into the drivers side, "Water demon… killer teeth. Hates the sun."

The End.


	44. Nightmare

_Disclaimer: If I used the same way now as I did for the first one shot to say no, I bet you guys wouldn't notice. _

A/N: Ugg! So it's past two in the morning, and I was going to go to bed because I need to get up relatively early tomorrow. I'm almost at the end of the one shots I have stored up on my computer, and so have been starting new ones. I don't have any of them done yet so I though, 'damn-- no new post tonight'. But... I found one! One that I forgot about, and that isn't half bad (ok-- I do have a few stories done, but none that you'll want to read... one is even a death fic). Now, I realize that my reviews and hits are dwindling because it's around the holiday time, but for those of you like me, who have no life or are really bored-- I'm staying up even later, and posting this one shot for you! Enjoy!

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Title: Nightmare  
Genre: Suspense.  
Summary: A Wee!Chester story-- Sam has a nightmare in the middle of the night and turns to the only person he knows can help; Dean. The only problem is that Dean is missing.

Nightmare

_No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't get away from it. It kept getting closer and closer, the hot breath burning the back of his neck. His legs moved fast, but the thing's moved faster, and with a painful jolt, he found himself laying face first on the ground, sharp, penetrating claws digging into his back._

"_Dean!_" Sam cried out sitting bolt upright in bed.

The room was dark, and the five year old stared around, wishing his eyes would adjust. Soon the lame orange glow from a streetlight outside allowed the youngster to see. The bed to his left which usually held his big brother was now empty.

"Dean," Sam's heart beat quickly, "Dean, I had a bad dream. Dean... where are you?"

The clock read in its large, red letters 4:17, and Sam looked at the door in hopes of seeing the hall light on. Maybe Dean had gotten up to use the bathroom-- but the lack of any light seemed to play against that idea.

"Dean," Sam spoke louder, tears crawling their way down his face at the memory of his nightmare.

Pushing back his blanket, Sam turned and looked again at the bed. The ten year olds covers were pushed back aside revelling the sheets and a sideways pillow. Taking a deep, shaking breath, Sam dropped his bare feet to the cool ground, and took the one large step to the bed.

"Dean please," Sam sobbed out quietly as he moved around the blanket in a vane attempt to find Dean, "I'm scared Dean… please don't joke."

Sam was merely five, though he knew already how to get his big brothers attention. The word 'scared' was the trigger word-- the word that would end all joking and playing, and would draw Dean out into a serious mode. When Sam was four, Dean played a trick on him where he turned out all the lights in the basement while Sam was down there. Sam began to cry and call for Dean to quit it, but the older brother just laughed. It was when Sam called out that he was scared that Dean turned the lights back on and apologized.

But now.

Still no Dean.

"Daddy," Sam breathed out and stumbled over to the door, his toe cracking sharply against the corner of his desk.

Tears of pain came to the youngsters eyes, but he didn't care. Their Dad had always told them to look out for each other-- that if one of them was in trouble to find him right away. Surely Dean missing in the middle of the night was reason to be worried.

Once in the hallway Sam limped to the light switch and, going on the tips of his feet, flicked it on. Yellow light illuminated the hallway, and Sam looked down to his foot, which bleed lightly on the hardwood floor. New tears started to come down his face, but he refused to think about it as he quickly checked the living room, dining room and bathroom to make sure Dean wasn't there.

He wasn't.

"Daddy!" Sam called, hobbling over to their Dad's room, and opened the door, "Daddy."

A tired moan came from the dark room and a moment later a small end light illuminated from the end table. John's tired face squinted up at the doorway where his youngest son stood, panic and tears on his face.

"Sammy?" John sat up, his white t-shirt twisted in with the sheets, "Sammy, what's wrong son?"

"Daddy," a hiccoughed sob escaped from Sam's mouth, "It's Dean."

John swung the covers off the bed, and stood up, "What about Dean?"

Tears rolled down Sam's face, "He's gone."

"What?" John rushed to the door, and noticed the blood droplets on the floor, "Sammy, what happened to the floor?"

"I hurt my toe," Sam's lower lip quivered, "But Daddy, Dean's gone. He's not in bed."

John took a deep breath and lifted Sam up into his arms, inspecting his foot as he walked down the hall. The cut didn't seem that bad, but the fact that Dean was missing at nearly four-thirty in the morning sent a cold feeling down John's spine. Quickly he stopped at the bathroom, and placed Sam on the closed toilet.

"Sammy," John spoke urgently as he grabbed a face cloth and wet it, "I want you to hold this to your foot. And don't go anywhere."

"What about Dean?" the red faced boy looked fearfully up at his Dad.

"Don't worry, I'll find him," John assured, "But just stay here-- I'll be back."

Sam nodded and John left the bathroom, heading to the room his sons shared. Quickly he flicked on the light and looked towards the bed-- sure enough Dean's was empty.

"Dean!" John called out in an authoritative voice, "Dean!"

He opened the closet door wide, and looked into nothing but dirty cloths and old toys. It took ten minutes before every light in the house was turned on, and John had searched every room. His youngest son cried loudly in the bathroom still and severe panic was beginning to set into John as he struggled to think of where Dean could be.

Sam sat in the bathroom, the blood covered cloth still held to his foot. His heart was pounding, and his breath was coming in deep gasps when the phone rang. As soon at the first ring entered his ears, Sam knew that it was bad news. His five year old brain screamed at him that he should run, to lock the door, to do anything. But he couldn't, and Sam just sat there, his tears and sobs silent now as after a few minutes John slowly walked in.

"Sammy," a tear crawled down John's face.

"No," Sam let the cloth drop to the floor as he shook his head, "No Daddy… please… no."

"That was the police," John's voice was quiet, "They- they found Dean."

"Dean…" Sam shook all over.

"Something attacked him," John swallowed hard, "… he didn't make it."

"No!" Sam cried out, jumping to his feet; his foot crying out in pain.

"It's ok Sammy," John put his hand out, "It's alright," his eyes suddenly flashed yellow and a large smile splashed across his face, "… it's your turn now."

"_No!!_" Sam screamed out crashing backwards against the shower door.

Everything was dark and Sam jolted upwards, his five year old heart furiously pounding in his chest.

Where was he?

"Dean…" the sob came out, memories mixing in with confusion.

To his surprise a mumble came from his left.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, tears splashing down his face.

"What--" the sudden voice of Dean rung out, and the light on the end table turned on, "Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam's voice choked out again, as he stood up on his bed and leaped over to Dean's.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean's voice was tired, though was laced with worry as he held onto the shaking boy.

"D-Dean… you… Daddy… no…" Sam's muffled voice was spoken into Dean's pyjama top as he hugged Dean with all what little strength he could.

"Shh Sammy," Dean's voice shook, "It's ok-- I'll- I'll go get Dad."

"No!" Sam sobbed, "No, don't leave. Please…"

"What's wrong?" Dean tried to pull Sam away to get a better look, "Sammy, come on."

"No…" Sam's crying voice was persistent as the young boy sat awkwardly half on Dean's lap.

Dean was about to force Sam off when the door opened up and Dean looked up to see their Dad standing there.

"Dean?" John took a quick pace to the bed, "Dean, what's going on?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted worriedly, "He just woke up crying."

"Sammy?" John sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled his youngest away from Dean, "Sammy come on now. I need you to look at me."

"Daddy?" Sam was shaking, and seemed reluctant to look at John, "Daddy no…"

"It's ok Sammy," John smiled, "It was just a dream."

That seemed to get Sam's attention as he took a deep, shaking breath and looked around. With no warning he burst into tears again, though this time clung onto John. John let this go on for nearly a minute, rubbing his back gently, trying to calm the young boy down while whispering reassurances.

"It's alright Sammy," John moved Sam back, "You just have to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick."

Sam took a deep, quivering breath.

"That's good," John nodded, "Now, come on-- I'll take you to get cleaned up, and Dean will go and get you some juice."

John looked at Dean who nodded and immediately jumped out of bed. John lifted up Sam, who moulded himself into John's chest as he walked into the bathroom. Sam tensed at this, but soon calmed as his Dad placed him down on the counter by the sink.

"Alright," John smiled turning on the water, "Want to tell me what happened?"

Sam sat there as John wiped his face with cool water.

"I had a dream," Sam whispered out hoarsely, "A bad one."

"What happened?" John questioned.

Sam's lower lip trembled, the memories still clear in his mind, "Something bad hurt Dean. And then it hurt you, and was coming to me."

John grinned again and brushed back some stray hair from his youngest sons face, "Well it was just a dream Sammy-- everything is ok. Dean's alright, and so am I," he looked in the tear filled eyes, "And so are you. Ok?"

Sam nodded just as Dean walked into the bathroom with a glass of apple juice.

"Drink this," John took the cup and gave it to Sam, "You'll feel better, and then you can go back to bed."

"Is he ok?" Dean asked quietly from the door.

"Yeah," John nodded, "Yeah, he's ok. He just had a bad dream, that's all."

Dean nodded and looked up at his red faced brother who finished the drink. Sam still looked scared and shaken, though much better than he had in the bedroom.

"Alright," John cleared his throat, "Are you ready to go back to bed now Sammy?"

Sam nodded his head, and John helped him off the counter. The three headed back down the hall, and into the small bedroom which the brothers shared. Dean crawled back into his bed, and Sam hesitantly got into his.

John walked over, pulled Sam's covers up, and ran his hand gently across his pink cheek, "Goodnight Sammy."

"'Night Daddy," Sam whispered out.

"Goodnight Dean," John spoke towards the other bed.

"'Night Dad," Dean called out.

The door was closed, and the room was put into darkness again. Both brothers lay awake, Dean listening for any sound from his little brother, and Sam squeezing his eyes shut, tears threatening to leak out again.

"Dean…?" Sam's quiet and scared voice rung out after a few moments.

Dean smiled to himself, "Come on Sammy."

An instant later, Sam had climbed out of his bed and snuggled in beside his big brother in his. Dean shifted over to make room for the still scared five year old.

"Goodnight Dean," Dean could hear the relief in Sam's voice as he curled up next to him.

Dean grinned and rubbed Sam's shoulder reassuringly, his eyelids getting heavy, "Goodnight Sammy."

The End.


	45. Alisa's Story

_Disclaimer: I stole this way to say no from another story._

_A/N: Dude I'm gonna sneeze... wait no. Err-- hiya folks! I'm keeping steady with four reviews a story right now-- haha-- that's awesome actually. It's almost Christmas eve! This story I'm posting right now is special. It's one that's dedicated to an awesome person, and friend, Alisa. Some of you may know who she is, and some maybe not-- but this story is for her. I started it quite a while ago, and it's writen in a really weird way. I had fun with this story because I got to make Sam and Dean make fun of me... haha-- you'll have to read it to figure out what I mean. Well-- here's to Alisa-- cheers!! Enjoy everyone! (oh right-- and as per promise, and as an early Christmas gift to you all-- I've updated 'A Windy Story' as well...)_

* * *

_Title: Alisa's Story  
Genre: Pretty much everything... haha...  
Summary: After digging through the extra's in this story, the underlying plot would be this: Dean's going down a highway late at night when suddenly everything goes dark. When light penitrates his world again, Sam is missing from the seat beside him..._

Alisa's Story

_The sun was setting in the horizon, shooting bright orange, reds and yellows into the sky. The dusty gravel road was old and abandoned except for the loan car. The sleek, black 1967 Chevy Impala sat horizontally, the two brothers standing outside it. _

_Dean wore his trusty leather jacket, worn jeans and a t-shirt which he couldn't ever remember buying. His little brother, Sam, donned a similar attire in his jeans and a blue t-shirt, his rough, shaggy hair nearly falling to his bright green eyes._

_Dean looked at Sam, a smile spreading across his handsome face, "So we're here for this chick, Alisa, right?"_

_Sam laughed, "Good job genius-- you get that from the title, or your own intuition."_

"_Shut-up."_

"_Ok," Sam took a deep breath and stretched his muscular arms out in front of him, "So this is a story, and every story has to have a--"_

"_Hero," Dean interrupted with a grinned, "…yours truly."_

"_Yeah?" Sam shot a look at his brother, "And what the hell am I?"_

"_I don't know," Dean snickered, "You always get your ass kicked in these stories."_

_Sam pondered the true statement a moment before continuing, "So Alisa likes certain things in her stories, and so we have to stick them into this thing."_

"_So are you ready to be unconscious for half of it?" Dean grinned._

_Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "What do you mean?"_

"_We all know that Alisa likes you down for the count."_

"_Only so she can see your wussy ass cry," Sam shot back._

"_What are you talking about?" Dean huffed, "I hate you."_

"_Right," Sam shook his head, "Lets get this thing started."…_

"Oh God, I hate you," Dean groaned, standing in the sand, his bare feet pressing against the warm ground.

Sam laughed, "Why?"

"Because I'm not a dolphin, I don't do the water thing," Dean eyed his brother, "I also don't do whatever the hell it is you're doing."

"Oh," Sam nodded, "You mean, wear a swimsuit… while swimming."

Sam stood at the waters edge in nothing more than blue and black swimming trunks. His bare, muscular chest was already becoming tanned in the bright sun, his shoeless feet taking comfort in the sand. The younger Winchester's dark hair was pushed roughly back by a pair of sunglasses which sat propped on his head. With a small smirk, he looked over at Dean.

He'd tried.

The elder brother donned a pair of old jeans, and wore one of his dark, button-down shirts opened up to reveal his less than tanned, well-built torso. Unlike Sam, he wore his sunglasses where they were supposed to go, and continued to stare wearily at Sam.

"Dude, I don't do the shorts thing," Dean reminded, "I've told you that."

"Alright," Sam shook his head, "Get your jeans soaked, but don't blame me when you're precious car gets wet."…

"_Alright," Dean laughed, leaning against the Impala, "So we've just begun, and we have, like-- everything she wants already."_

"_I'm shirtless," Sam grinned, "What else matters man?"_

"_I'm going to get the girl, that's what matters," Dean shot out, "But yeah… I get your point. We can't go too quick with this."_

"_I know," Sam leaned against the car, "And water… this author has written something with water before. And as good as shirtless me is, I think we need something different."_

"_I'm all for it," Dean nodded, "I have a feeling I was going to get my ass kicked in that last story anyways."_

"_So what?" Sam looked at his brother, "Horror? Not too often we get a good horror story put in."_

"_Yeah, sounds good," Dean agreed, "We just have to make sure that there's that sappy crap in it."_

_Sam laughed, "You're a jerk Dean."_…

Not too often did the Winchester's travel through the night, and as Dean let out a wide yawn, he knew why. The time was just past two thirty in the morning, and try as he might, Dean Winchester was determined to get to where he wanted by day break. Sam slept awkwardly leaning against the window, and though Dean knew his brother deserved to sleep, he also wanted to make sure he stayed awake while driving.

"Sorry Sammy," Dean whispered.

Slowly, the elder brother opened up his window, a cool breeze immediately dominating the car. Something, as Dean suspected, that awoke the slumbering passenger.

"Dean?" Sam stretched and looked beside him with half closed eyes.

"Go back to sleep Sammy," Dean smiled.

"What time is it?" Sam attempted to comprehend the numbers on his watch.

"Almost three," Dean spoke, and then repeated his works, "Go back to sleep."

"Let me drive," Sam stretched again, "You need your sleep."

"I'm fine man," Dean shook his head, "Just needed a little pick me up to keep me going. Not much scenery out here."

"That's because everything is pitch black," Sam frowned, "Anyways, it's freezing outside. If you need something to keep you awake, turn on some music."

Dean obliged, and closed the window, turning on the radio when he was done. Sam was awake now, and looked at the trees passing by along the side of the road. A soft classic rock song played on the station and a few minutes went by in peace.

The clock had just turned 2:58am when the static erupted on the radio, mixing in the song with Luis Armstrong's '_What a Wonderful World_' .

Dean looked over at Sam, "Well we know _that's_ never good."

"Dean," Sam gasped.

"Sam?" Dean's voice immediately went into worried big brother mode, "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Dean," Sam's eyes were wide, "Dean… help."

"Sammy!" Dean suddenly screamed as everything around him went dark.

Light finally shattered the elder brother's world after mere seconds that seemed like hours. When Dean's frantic eyes landed on the passenger seat, his feet immediately slammed on the breaks.

Sam was gone…

"_Dude, I swear to God!" Dean cried out exasperated, a short snicker escaping Sam's mouth, "Just __**once**__ I'd like to go through a story without you disappearing. Once-- that's all."_

"_And I'd like a story to go by without you calling me Sammy, but we all know that'll never happen," Sam smirked, "Hell, it was the second word to come out of your mouth.."_

"_This story better be going somewhere fricken awesome, or else I'm leaving," Dean threatened._

"_Stick around Dean," Sam leaned into a more comfortable position against the Impala, "This thing's just getting started."_…

Dean's breath came in short gasps as he clung onto the steering wheel; his heart pounding viciously in his chest. The car was stopped and everything was dark minus the beams of light shooting out front of the Impala's headlights.

"No," Dean whispered, opening the door, and stepping into the cool night, "no, no, no…"

His legs feeling like rubber, Dean stumbled to the center of the highway; darkness pierced by the full moon washed onto the dew stricken asphalt. A lone cricket chirped from the side of the road somewhere in the trees as Dean's breathing quickened.

"Sam," the elder brother's voice barely escaped his mouth, "No… please."

Dean pulled his hands up to his face, and, covering his unshaven features, squeezed his eyes closed to force the fearful tears not to come. His heart pounded-- he knew this. He knew what was happening because he'd dreamt it all his life.

Sam disappeared.

But it wasn't just that; Sam had gone missing many times in their eventful lives. Once, Dean remembered, when Sam was nine, a forest demon had captured Sam for nine hours. When the kid was seventeen, he'd ran off with friends after getting in a fight with their Dad. He was gone for three days that time. Or even just a few months ago when Sam had been taken captive by the Bender's. The difference was, every single one of those times, Dean let his guard down. Dean wasn't with Sam; he had no way to stop whatever it was that made Sam disappear.

This time was his nightmare; Sam was gone. Taken right from Dean's sight without a word.

"Breath," Dean forced the words out his mouth, "C'mon Dean… you gotta think here…"

His heart pounded so hard it hurt Dean's chest, and he was forced to crouch close to the black, damp road. Again he closed his eyes, hearing the night sing its song as Dean struggled to keep his breathing even…

"_Oh come off it!" Dean cried out, "I don't go all ecstasy boy like that!"_

_Sam burst out laughing, "It's your inner child the author's bringing out Dean. It's a writers technique to help the reader feel sorry for you."_

"_Screw any writers technique," Dean's voice had heightened in emotions, "She's making me into a pansy! And my worst nightmare isn't you disappearing," Dean glared at a still grinning Sam, "My worst nightmare is you always coming back."_

"_Suck it up Dean," it was all Sam could do to not start laughing again._

"_You're just happy because you're MIA right now in the story," Dean huffed, "She can't screw with the way you do your thing."_

"_**My thing**__?" Sam eyed Dean suspiciously, "Dean, are you trying to say that if suddenly I disappeared out of thin air, you wouldn't worry?"_

_Dean paused, "Never."_

"_Well," Sam let loose a laugh, "I guess it's a good thing you're not writing this then."_…

Dean stumbled to his feet, and went to the car. Wordlessly he opened up the back door, and took out Sam's laptop which had been sitting on the seat next to a bag. Renewed determination to not let his emotions get the better of him, Dean sat on the seat, his feet lightly touching the ground as he opened the computer up.

"The music went all weird _before_ Sam disappeared," Dean washed his hand once again over his face, "Just after we got past the twenty-three sign, so maybe it has something to do with this area of the road."

Sam had spent over five hundred dollars of well earned hustling money on a wireless internet connection that claimed to be able to pick up a signal from anywhere. It had yet to been proven wrong, and Dean could only hope that now wouldn't be the time. Sam was usually the one to do anything with his computer, though one restless night he'd shown his older brother how to connect up to the internet and look things up.

"Come on, come on," Dean tapped impatiently on the side of the laptop as he waited for the system to connect up.

Finally a small pop-up reading 'weak signal' showed on the bottom right hand corner, and a relieved sigh escaped from Dean. He knew that they were about a hundred miles away from a place called Make, and also knew that was the closest place to where he was. With that information in mind, Dean typed in to look at the news archive for the city.

"Damn it," Dean paused in frustration, not sure what to write.

Sam was always the one to do this!

Desperately, he simply typed in '_route twenty-three_', and waited for a few tense moments while the system searched. Finally four articles came up, and Dean's eyes scanned them; finally landing on the third article with the headline '_Accident on Route 23 Kills One…_'.

"Bingo," Dean whispered clicking on it.

_Accident on Route 23 Kills One, and Sparks Safety Matters_

_  
November 5th, 1988_

_Early morning reports suggest that twenty-nine year old Adam Jones was driving down Route 23 late yesterday night when his vehicle lost control and went off the edge of the road. The body was found still in the car at approximately six am. Mr. Jones appeared to have died instantaneously from a broken neck._

'_It's just so horrible,' Catherine Jones, Adam's wife spoke tearfully to 'The Mark Press' in an exclusive interview, 'It was always his fear driving down that road. The corner was so sharp, and there was no guard rails. Adam hated driving down that road, and he phoned me at just past two in the morning to tell me that he would be home in about an hour. It was his greatest fear; crashing off of there. Adam would be so relieved to just get off of Route 23.'_

_Through her tears Mrs. Jones brought to the attention of city and state officials for the need of more protection on the highways winding down Route 23, and--_

Dean stopped reading the article, but instead concentrated on the words that Mrs. Jones had spoken to the press about her husband. Carefully Dean stepped out of the car, and looked around at where he was; sure enough the car was parked haphazardly by a sharp corner in the road.

Right where Adam had gone off.

There were guard rails on the corner now, but slowly realization struck him as to what was happening.

"It was his greatest fear," Dean breathed out, his eyes continuing to scan to the darkness, "His greatest fear was going off this road, and all he ever wanted to do was get past it."…

"_Here comes an epiphany Dean," Sam smirked as the sun began to set further in the horizon._

"_Shut up Sam."_

"_Think it'll hurt when you have it?"_

_Dean glared at Sam, "I could cut this off right now, so I **never** find your ass."_

"_But this is the best part of the story," Sam insisted, "It's where the writer's had enough fun screwing around with the reader, and just puts all the facts together in one long monologue."_

"_Someone should really punch you," Dean frowned…_

"I came down here at the same time as him," Dean swallowed hard, "And just like him, my worst fear came true…" Dean felt the cold feeling form in the pit of his stomach; Sam disappearing without a trace, "All Adam ever wanted to do was to get past here, so maybe…"

The idea was a long shot-- hell, Dean didn't even know if he had the right case or not, but didn't want to waste time to figure it out. All he wanted to do was get Sam back in one piece, and if that meant taking a long shot, then Dean would do it. With his heart pounding, Dean got into the drivers side of the car, and started it back up.

"Maybe if I can get past this part in the road, then his spirit will rest," Dean quietly worded his theory, "And Sam will come back."

Everything was silent in the car until just before the road got to the curve. Suddenly the words of '_What a Wonderful World_' floated into the car, and everything turned dark.

"Damn it!" Dean hissed, desperately trying to keep the car maneuvered on the road.

It seemed like a futile job, but finally the music ended and the world around him returned to view once again.

"Dean!" Sam's voice suddenly cried out.

Dean looked over, and slammed on the breaks at the sight of Sam sitting in the seat next to him once again, his eyes wide…

"_Awesome," Dean groaned with a smile on his face as he leaned into the Impala, "We all know what's going to happen next."_

_Sam grinned at his older brother, "Chick-flick moment."_

"_Dude, in the __**first**__ episode, I said I wasn't into these things!" Dean cried out, "And so what happens? Every single fricken story this lady writes has an after school special moment in it."_

"_It's what the readers like," Sam shrugged._

"_Well you may be a little princess and like the whole sap story, but I prefer to keep away from the pansy look," Dean pouted._

"_Instead opting for the spoiled ten year old look," Sam shot out, "Besides-- remember, this story is for Alisa… and she likes the worried you thing. People care Dean, and whether you like it or not, these stories usually have these moments in them."_

"_I've noticed."_

"_And so what?" Sam shook his head and laughed, "You're going to sit here and pout during the dramatic, awe-worthy chick-flick moment?"_

_Dean pondered this a moment, "Maybe."_

"_Dean, you're ridiculous," Sam rolled his eyes, "You show more emotion to your car than you do to anything that breaths."_

_This got a smile out of Dean as he patted his precious car affectionately, "Damn straight."…_

"Dean," Sam gasped, "What the hell happened?"

"Sammy," Dean swallowed hard, "Oh my God."

"What happened?" Sam asked again, as he stared around in shock.

Dean put his hand out and touched Sam's arm as if to make sure he was real. Everything had gone so fast, and Dean felt tears stinging in his eyes once again. Immediately, in a feeble attempt to hide his overflowing emotions, Dean opened the car door and stepped out into the night air. Walking to the front, Dean leaned against the hood of the car, the headlights shooting out from behind his legs.

"Dean?" Sam followed in suit and rounded to the front of the car, "Are you ok?"

Dean looked up at Sam and smiled, "It is so good to see you."

Sam tried again at his question, "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Dean shot back his own question.

"Umm," Sam struggled to remember anything, "I was sitting in the car with you and suddenly the song changed on the radio. Next thing I remember is something really tight squeezing around my chest, and then nothing."

Dean turned towards Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Are you hurt?"

Sam thought about this a moment, "No. Are you?"

Dean shook his head while running a rough hand down his face, "No-- I'm good Sammy." he paused a moment, sniffled loudly then turned again to his little brother, "Lets get out of here."

Sam nodded curiously and got back into the Impala. Dean floored out as fast as he could, the tires squealing against the dew strewn asphalt. It wasn't until they had made it a fair distance away that Sam spoke up again.

"Dean… are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed deeply as he slipped in one of his tapes, "But dude-- I am never going down that fricken road again."…

_Sam grinned and let out a small laugh, "Ok-- that wasn't so bad, was it?"_

"_Yeah, yeah," Dean gave in, "I give it a seven."_

"_Seven?" Sam scoffed, "No way-- nine, eight at the very least."_

"_Ok," Dean turned towards Sam, "For one-- like I said; ecstasy boy is not me-- I need a good half dozen drinks or a really hot chick before I'm falling to the ground. And two-- the end explanation of what the hell was happening on that highway was kind of weak man."_

"_No it wasn't," Sam frowned, "The guy had his worst nightmare come true on that part of the highway, so now anyone that passes through there at the same time he crashed will have their own worst nightmare come true. Your nightmare ends as soon as his does-- when you pass the part of the road that he was never able to."_

"_You see!" Dean held out his arms in a dramatic gesture, "Why couldn't she have just explained it like that?"_

"_Because a one paragraph story would kind of suck," Sam stated. _

"_Whatever dude," Dean laughed, "It was good-- I got to save your ass."_

"_And Alisa got her sappy 'watch-Dean-almost-cry' moment," Sam nodded._

"_Just one thing missing," Dean spoke up as he opened up the Impala door and got inside._

"_Oh?" Sam followed into the passenger side, and adjusted himself on the beige upholstery._

_Dean laughed, "No shirtless me."_

_Sam shook his head as his big brother floored out of the gravel road, kicking up dust and rocks into the almost completely set sun, "Maybe the next story Dean…"_

The End.


	46. Ok

_Disclaimer: One day I'm going to put every fricken way that I've said no here, and then maybe you'll figure it out... _

A/N: Haha! I actually said 'oh my God!' when I found this one shot that I'm posting tonight. Only because I **completely** forgot about it. I wrote it quite a while ago. Haha-- not that it's that great of a story, but I'm just kindda happy that I don't have to stay up super late and write a new one shot. Anyways, tomorrow-- YAY-- is Christmas, so I'll be posting the Christmas special one shot then, which I really hope you all will like! Until then, read this 'surprised the crap outta me' story, and enjoy!

* * *

Title: Ok  
Genre: Angsty and suspensful  
Summary: Wee!Chester-- Sam and Dean get lost in the woods, and then get into an argument...

Ok

"It's your fault," Sam grumbled trudging behind his older brother.

"Sure Mr. Boy Scout," Dean shot out turning around, "Dad said to stay by the damn car. You're fricken twelve years old-- what was so hard about that?"

"The fact that the damn thing was coming after me!" Sam defended, "You and Dad left me alone with no weapon, or did you forget that small detail?"

Dean paused, and looked up at the black sky, "Well… when you ran, why the hell did you go into the woods?"

Sam too stopped, and sat down on a broken log, "Dude, we were parked in the woods. Name another place where I could have gone?"

Dean didn't respond. His mind was racing with thoughts of what the hell to do. When the three Winchester's had gone into the woods in the late afternoon to look around for a reported werewolf, it seemed like something simple. The reports were sketchy, and John had mainly taken them there to try and teach Sammy more of the ropes in hunting. The ropes, the younger brother quickly learned, which entailed 'guarding' the car while Dean and John scooped out the area.

It was when a giant creature pounced at Sam that everything changed. The young hunter ran into the woods calling for his Dad and brother. Dean had heard him cry, and the seventeen year old took off towards the voice. By the time he'd found Sam, it was quickly evident that both brothers were now lost in the woods.

That was nearly five hours ago.

"And besides which," Dean spoke up after a brief moment of silence, "How do you see this as being my fault? I was coming to save your ass."

"_My_ ass?" Sam laughed, "Well next time you're doing that, try and keep track of where _your_ ass is, so we can get back."

It was several seconds before Dean burst out laughing.

"What?" Sam stared, aggravated, at him.

"Sammy…" Dean breathed between sputters of laughter, "We're so screwed."

"Nice," Sam muttered, "See, this is why I don't want to hunt Dean. _This_ is why I just want to… play soccer, or go on a swim team or something."

"Why?" Dean continued to walk, Sam in tow.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam let out a quick laugh, "I got chased into the woods by a werewolf, and am now lost at well past midnight. Most kids my age think of Wolverine when they hear werewolf, not 'oh my God, I'm going to die'. Dean, I just want to be normal."

"This _is_ normal for us."

"Well I want to be normal for everyone else," Sam stated, and stopped, "This sucks dude. One day one of us isn't going to come home from one of these stupid hunts."

"Shut up Sam," anger was vibrating through Dean's voice threateningly.

"Why?" Sam threw his arms out, "What are you going to do Dean?"

"I'm going to kick your ass if you keep talking about things you don't know about," Dean's voice remained cold.

"Things I don't know about?" Sam stopped a moment before continuing, "You mean like demons? Like fear and hurt? Like my Mom dying when I was a baby? Just because you can remember it, and I can't, doesn't make it hurt less Dean."

"Why don't you just shut up!" Dean yelled violently, shoving Sam backwards.

Sam stumbled, but didn't fall, "I'm almost thirteen Dean, I'm not a kid anymore! You can't push me around."

"I can do whatever the hell I want!" Dean shot out, his voice echoing in the darkness, "You have no appreciation or respect for me or for Dad and what we do!"

"You do?" Sam laughed sarcastically, "Dean, all I ever see you do is follow in Dad's shadow, and cower when there's danger."

"Is that what you think?" Dean's voice had dropped dramatically low.

"Yeah," Sam tried to stand to his full height; and though he was nearly five years younger than Dean, he made it nearly to eye level.

"Fine," Dean nodded, "Then go. You can find your own damn way back to the car. And don't come crying to me when you get attacked."

"Fine!" Sam shot out, and turned around to walk in the opposite direction.

He'd made it barely five feet before a low, ominous growl pierced the air, followed quickly by Dean's voice.

"Sammy, don't move."

"What is it?" Sam whispered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

"It's the werewolf," Dean whispered.

He could see the glow of the eyes just feet away from Sam, and carefully Dean reached into the back rim of his pants for his gun. The older brother had completely forgotten he had the weapon until that point, and hoped his reflexes were quicker than that of the thing lining up for his little brother.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was quiet and soft, "When I say so, I want you to duck."

"What!" Sam hissed out, "What the hell is ducking going to do?"

"You have to trust me," Dean spoke carefully, the growling getting louder.

"Ok," Sam swallowed hard, his eyes on the werewolf just feet away from him.

"On the count of three," Dean felt his own heart pound inside his chest, "One… two… _three!_"

Sam quickly fell to the ground just as the massive beast shot out from the brush at him. Dean let out a single shot which was followed by a loud, shrill yelp. Everything was silent then as Dean saw in the moonlight the werewolf sprawled lifelessly on the ground a mere foot away from Sam, who lay covering his head.

"Sammy," Dean quickly rushed over and bent down to his knees, "Sammy, are you ok?"

Sam was breathing deep as he moved his hand down and looked at Dean, "Dean… did you get it?"

Dean grinned, "Yeah."

Sam paused and looked down at himself, "Did it get _me_?"

Dean, too, studied his little brother, "I don't think so. Does anything hurt?"

Sam shook his head, "No… I think I'm ok."

"Good," Dean willed his heart back to normal, "Lemme help you up."

Sam gratefully accepted the help, and for a few moments the brothers stood in the middle of the woods-- Dean's hand still holding onto Sam's arm, and Sam staring down at the body of the werewolf.

"You sure you're alright Sammy?" Dean asked after a moment.

"I'm fine," Sam's voice was soft, "…Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam swallowed, "I'm sorry about what I said… about you not doing anything."

"It's ok," Dean grinned, "You were just being a pain in the ass. You're supposed to do that-- you're my little brother."

"You saved me," Sam feebly tried to explain.

"So?" Dean shrugged, finally letting go and walking to in front of Sam, "What did you expect me to do?"

Sam remained silent.

"Dude, I have to protect you," Dean grinned, "Dad would kill me if I let you turn into a werewolf."

Sam let out a laugh, "Either way Dean… thank you. And I really am sorry."

Dean nodded, "Me too."

"_Dean! Sammy!!_"

A voice echoed into their small clearing. Immediately the brothers recognized it as their father's voice.

"Dad!" Dean called out.

"Dad, over here!" Sam echoed.

A few moments later, a beam from a flashlight entered through some trees, and John's anxious face appeared.

"Dean," John's voice was hoarse.

"We're over here Dad," Dean grinned, "We're ok."

John walked over to his son's and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder while looking down at the werewolf. It seemed to take several moments before the oldest hunter was able to get any words out.

"Thank God. What happened?"

"We got lost," Dean tried to keep the story short, "And then got attacked. But I got it-- silver bullet."

"Are you hurt?" John looked directly at Dean, trying to see his son's face clearly.

"No," Dean shook his head.

"Sammy," John quickly moved to his youngest, "Son… are you ok?"

Sam looked over at Dean, and grinned widely, "Yeah Dad… I'm ok."

The End.


	47. 12 Days of Christmas

_Disclaimer: Not even Santa would let me have them!!_

_A/N: Ho ho ho-lly crap! This story... oh man... Alright-- so first off; Merry Christmas everyone! Technically it's past midnight right now, but I haven't gone to bed so it's still Christmas. And this is my Christmas one shot!! Though the term one shot is used loosely... I put so much work onto this story-- haha, it's over 10'000 fricken words long!! Alright-- so about this story... it's called '12 Days of Christmas', and essentially what it is, is 12 seperate stories all wrapped into one. Fom 1982 to 2006, I took twelve Christmas' and wrote a story for them. The things that I made connect the stories are kindda subtle... but look out for the obvious thing-- which is two ornaments, and the not so obvious thing; Sam and the color blue, and Dean and the color red. Anyways-- yeah... this is what I've been promising you all for a while now, and I'm kindda proud of myself for getting it out on time. It **is** long, so it may take you a while to read, but please, please, PLEASE lemme know what you think. Haha-- I strive for reviews. So yeah... there may be a couple of days gap before the next one shot, but until then-- enjoy and Happy Holidays!!_

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_Title: 12 Days of Christmas  
Genre: Everything... no, seriously... everything. I looked through here, and I have all genre's in this thing... yep... even romance...  
Summary: Like a photo album, we take a look at twelve different Christmas' through the Winchester family, and see what it is that makes them special._

12 Days of Christmas

_December 25th, 1982_

John sighed deeply, but had to smile. They had moved out of Mike's house just a few weeks earlier, and had chose to set up camp in a low rent apartment. A small, three foot Christmas tree was all John could afford, and it sat sturdy in the corner of the living room, currently being inspected by seven and a half month old Sammy. Two months earlier if someone had told the Winchester father that he would be in the situation that he was in, he would have laughed.

Or cried.

It was the first Christmas without Mary, and it was being taken hard by everyone; in particular Dean. The boy was no longer a toddler; his fifth birthday coming far too soon, and so John knew Dean would always remember these months after his Mom died. It was because of this that John vowed to make each Christmas special-- no matter what was happening, Christmas had to be special.

"Dean," John forced a grin as he walked in towards his eldest, "Why don't you show Sammy his Christmas ornament."

When each boy was born, Mary had bought a Christmas ornament with their name inscribed on it, and their birthday. It was his wife's way of making the boys a part of the holidays.

"I dunno," Dean had been really quiet lately and John would struggle to make the boy speak.

"Come on," John scooped Dean up and sat on floor next so Sam, "You know you want to."

Dean kept a determinedly blank face, and with a smile, John lifted up his t-shirt and blew a loud raspberry on his stomach. A loud screeching giggle immediately erupted from the four year old.

"Daddy, no!" Dean called out, "That tickles!"

"I'm not stopping until Sammy tells me to," John pulled his face away just long enough to speak before moving in for another laughter inducing raspberry.

"Daddy," Dean's voice squeaked, "Sammy can't talk yet!"

John breathed deep and let Dean sit upright on his lap, "Alright-- you win. But now you have to show Sammy his ornament, or he'll never know which one it is."

Dean nodded, "Ok."

John leaned to his left and picked up the enfant; cradling both boys in his arms as they sat in front of the small Christmas tree. The evening was quiet and peaceful as Dean pointed out Sam's ornament; a medium sized blue ball with the words 'Samuel Winchester' written in gold. A picture of a small boy holding a baseball bat ready to swing at an unseen ball was underneath the name, and on the opposite side was written 'May 2nd, 1982'.

_December 25th, 1985_

"That's mine Sammy!" Dean hollered before quickly shouting out, "_Dad! Sammy took my truck!_"

John walked in from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. Sam was crouched on the floor, his body protectively covering a bright red truck while Dean stood towering overtop of him, clearly ready to pull the three year away from the toy as violently as possible.

"Sammy, whose truck is that?" John asked calmly.

"Mine!" Sam declared loudly, still clutching the toy.

"It is not Dad!" Dean immediately pointed out, his arms folded across his chest, "He got the blue truck-- mine was the red!"

"Calm down Dean," John smiled, then looked at Sam, "Sammy, what color is the truck?"

Sam moved a way a bit so he could look at it, "Red."

"Good job," John encouraged, "Now what color is that truck beside you?"

Sam looked at that truck, "Blue!"

"What color do you like best?" John questioned, knowing the answer already.

"Blue!" Sam cried out, moving quickly from one toy to the other.

Dean snatched up his truck before Sam could reclaim it, then looked at his Dad, "How'd you know Sammy's favorite color is blue?"

John's eyes sparkled, "Same way I know yours is red."

Dean's seven year old eyes shone in wonder; his Dad knew everything! John did know lots of things, he had to admit. He knew how to get rid of a demon, he knew how to bless holy water, he'd memorized three separate exorcism rituals, and he'd even managed to learn basic Old Latin. But as he stared at the small Christmas tree sitting on the table while Dean and Sam played with their trucks, he knew the real reason behind his son's favorite colors, and it had nothing to do with demons or supernatural beings. Right on the front of the tree hung Sammy's blue ornament, and beside it, Dean's bright red one.

_December 25th, 1986_

Sam laid on the couch, his head hanging off the edge as he looked upside down at the decorations hanging from the wall. One week ago the Winchester family had hung lights all around the small living room, and now they were turned on; the bright reds, greens and blues illuminating the room. The four year old had been suffering a nasty flu for the entire week leading up to Christmas, and now was so tired that his new toys were laying untouched on the ground in front of him.

"Hey Dean?" he finally spoke.

"Yeah?" Dean sat cross-legged on the chair next to the couch working on some Christmas break school work.

"Where's Daddy?"

Dean sighed sadly and looked at his little brother, "He's gone out for the weekend, remember? He'll be home tomorrow morning."

"But it's Christmas," Sam pointed out, "Daddy's never gone today."

"I know Sammy," Dean's voice was soft, "But he had to go out."

"Why?"

"Just because," Dean stated, "Do you want to watch the new movie that you got for Christmas?"

Sam silently shook his head no, and went back to staring at the lights. Dean felt a lump in his throat, and wished he could tell his brother why his Dad had to go. The day before John had left more responsibility to the eight year old than any kid should have as he told his eldest boy that he had to go and hunt a shadow demon in the next town over. Unfortunately John wouldn't be able to be home on Christmas Day, and so the family had exchanged small gifts the evening before. Everything was wrong that year; the Winchester's had moved into their new place just weeks earlier, and so the only Christmas decorations that were put up was the lights which Sam had insisted on placing around the room. Dean had hoped that a tree would be put up, but the year before had shown to be the last year for the three foot tree, and this year John said he was too busy to get another one.

All Dean wanted was to put up the ornaments.

"Hey Sammy," Dean suddenly spoke up, "Want to decorate the living room for when Daddy comes home?"

This got Sam's attention, not only because of the prospect of more decorating, but also of his big brother's use of the word 'Daddy'; a sentimental note that rarely escaped the aging Winchester. It was a quick and excited 'yes!' later before both boys went around the place decorating. There was two boxes of Christmas things that Dean knew of; one was large and held big, non breakable things like tinsel, garland, paper hand-made figures, and a giant Santa which stood beside a sleigh. The second box held the breakable things; a porcelain nativity set, the Angel which always sat on the top of the tree, and Sam and Dean's ornaments. Dean searched through the whole place, but was only able to find the larger of the two boxes. That didn't stop the Winchester brother's from laughing and having fun decorating nearly every inch of the living room and adjoining kitchen.

"Dean, look!" Sam giggled from near the far wall, "Look at Santa!"

Dean looked over and saw that Sam had carefully wrapped some red garland around the Santa's neck to make it look like a scarf, "You're a goof Sammy."

Sam grinned and went about throwing tinsel around the table to try and make a winter wonderland with small hand-made people that Dean had made in first grade. Neither boy noticed their father walk in as by that time loud Christmas music was blaring from the radio. For nearly a minute John watch Sam and Dean sit at the table placing pieces of foil on the table and pretending it was a skating rink for the people to skate on. With a smile, he walked into his bedroom, and returned a few moments later with a box in his hand.

"Missing something boys?" John spoke loudly over the music.

"_Daddy!_" Sammy cried out spinning out of the chair and bolting across the room.

John placed the box on the ground and bent down to scoop up his youngest. Sam wrapped himself around his Dad, leaning his head into John's snow covered jacket. John held the embrace as Dean rushed over to him as well to join in the hug. Wrapping his arm around Dean as Sam continued to cling onto his Dad, John waited a long moment before anyone spoke.

"Daddy, you're home!" Sam was near tears as he spoke, "Dean said you weren't gonna be here."

"I know Sammy," John smiled, "But I couldn't leave you guys today. It's Christmas!"

"I'm sorry about the mess Dad!" Dean, too, looked as if he could burst into tears at any moment, "I didn't know you were gonna be here today. And Sammy was feeling better, so we decided to decorate because we couldn't get a tree, and--"

"It's ok Dean," John laughed as he plopped Sam on the couch and reached down to the box, "I came to help you guys."

Carefully John opened the box and Dean peaked inside; it was the one holding all of the breakable and special things. John took out Dean's ornament and handed it to his eldest, and then took hold of the blue ornament and lead Sammy to the Santa which still had the garland wrapped around it's neck.

"Christmas wouldn't be special without these," John whispered more to himself than anybody else.

Carefully the boys hung the ornaments around the garland, and the three spent the rest of the night singing Christmas carols, drinking hot chocolate and living a life where demons where something you read in books where there was always a night in shinning armor to save the day.

_December 25th, 1988_

"Who is _he_?" Sam had his arms folded over his chest as he stared accusingly at the man standing before him.

"Sam!" ten year old Dean hissed out as he elbowed his little brother, "Be polite."

"No!" Sam pouted further, "It's Christmas, and Daddy said that we were gonna cel'brate as a family! _He's_ not part of the family."

The man before the brother's smiled widely, "I could never be a part of your family."

Sam opened his mouth to shoot back an insult but then slowly closed it as the realization of the man's words sunk in. John stood beside the stranger in the opening to the house, and watched with fascination as the events unfolded.

"Why not?" the six year old finally asked.

"Because if I were part of your family, I wouldn't be able to spoil you," the man winked as he pulled out a bag from behind his back, "But before I can give anyone anything, I need to know who is who," he looked at Sam, "I bet you're John."

Sam giggled at this, "No. I'm Sam. My Dad's name is John."

"So that's why he kept calling himself that," the man looked now at Dean who had laughed at the last comment, "That only leaves you son. You must be Dean."

"Yes Sir," Dean nodded obediently.

"Sir?" the stranger chuckled, "John, you did a fine job."

John smiled proudly, "They're smart boys."

"They sure are," the man handed a small bag to Sam, "Here you go Sam, I hope you like it."

"Thanks!" Sam's anger and resentment towards the man was long gone by now as he took the gift and rushed into the living room to open it.

"And you Dean," the man handed Dean a similarly shaped bag.

"Cool," Dean grinned widely, "Thanks!"

Following his brother's actions, Dean went into the living room to open the present up. The man then looked over at John and sighed almost sadly.

"Do they both know?"

John shook his head, "No… just Dean. Sammy…" John echoed his friends sigh, "Dean has been stopping him from knowing for a long time now. It's not going to last," John stared out into the other room at his boys, "It's getting too dangerous for them, and I can't ask Dean to do so much for this family when he's still a kid himself."

"When are you going to tell the young one?" the man asked.

John swallowed, "Not today. Of all the days in the year, today is the day for them-- for Sam and Dean to be normal, and to celebrate a day meant to be happy. Sammy deserves to be a child."

"Daddy look at this!" Sam cried running into the room, "Look what he gave me!"

Sam proudly held up a hat, mitt and scarf set; all different shades of blue.

"Me too!" Dean joined his brother, "Except mine are red! How did you know our favorite colors?"

The newly found friend smiled, "Santa clued me in on it."

Sam's eyes widened in wonder while Dean grinned and glanced at his Dad; knowing the real reason behind the knowledge.

"That's great boys," John smiled enthusiastically, "Make sure to thank him."

"Thank you!" Sam cried out, racing back into the living room to play with his other assortment of Christmas things he'd got that year.

"Thank you Sir," Dean spoke quickly before going after Sam.

"Thank you," John looked at the man.

"It's no problem John," the man insisted, placing a hand on John's shoulder, "I'm here for whatever you need. You know that."

John nodded, tears creeping to his eyes, "Really… thank you Bobby."

_December 25th, 1992_

"Perfect," John whispered, a tear forcing it's way down his face, "This is just perfect."

Anyone just listening to the father's voice may not have been able to pick up on the sarcasm, but to see the man pacing the emergency room would show a picture of anything but perfect. Glancing over, John saw ten year old Sam curled up on the chair with his eyes closed.

Though he knew the youngest wasn't asleep.

"Sammy," John spoke into the otherwise empty waiting room, "Do you want me to call Bobby or Pastor Jim to take you back home? You can sleep more comfortably."

"No," Sam's eyes opened, but he remained in the chair, "I want to make sure Dean is ok."

John nodded in understanding-- that's exactly what he wanted to know as well. When Dean had been pushed off the roof of the abandoned house by the poltergeist they'd been hunting, John was pretty sure his heart stopped. Sam had got there before John did, and had started screaming at the site of his brother's unconscious and bloody body. The next few hours were an angry blur to John; the race to the hospital, doctors questions, and the knowledge that Dean had to be taken into surgery to repair a badly broken arm.

And all on Christmas!

John promised his sons that this was a small hunt, and they'd be done well in time to have a Christmas dinner together and open gifts. It had all changed so dramatically, and John wished, more than anything, that he'd never taken his boys on the hunt.

"Mr. Lovings?" a doctor in scrubs walked over to John, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes," John's eyes widened, "How is my son? How's Dean?"

"Dean will be fine," the Doctor smiled, "He's in recovery right now, and is awake. He had a badly broken arm which we had to set, and a mild concussion. He was a very lucky boy, and should be good to go home some time tomorrow."

"Thank you," John choked on the good news, and wrapped his arm around Sam, who had walked over when the doctor entered, "Can we see him?"

"Sure," the Doctor nodded, "He may seem a little groggy from the anesthesia, but he is awake."

Sam laced his hand through John's as they walked down the hall to Dean's room. Once there, John stepped in first to see Dean laying in a hospital bed; his left arm was being held up with a sling, he had a bandage on the right side of his head, and an IV tube stuck out of his right hand. His eyes were small slits as he stared, still only half awake, at the entrance of his Dad and little brother.

"Hey Dean," John smiled widely and walked to the side of the bed; he brushed some stray hair from his forehead, "How are you feeling dude?"

A weak smile touched Dean's lips, "Hi Dad. I-I hurt."

"It'll get better," John assured, rubbing his hand gently down Dean's good arm, "Just try to get some rest."

"What about Sammy?" Dean asked, glancing at his little brother, who stood scared near the end of the bed, "Is he ok?"

John grinned again, "Sammy's fine. We're just worried about you."

The fourteen year old took a deep breath, "I'm sorry I ruined Christmas Dad."

John shook his head, "You didn't ruin it son. It was me."

"No, me!" Sam suddenly put in taking three big steps to meet in the conversation, "I'm the one who really wanted to go on the hunt, 'member?"

"No Sammy," a tear crawled down Dean's face, "It wasn't you," and then added to try and make up, "And when we get home-- I got a real good Christmas present for you."

The young Winchester looked earnestly at Dean, "You already gave me one-- even better than Mom's ornaments!"

Dean looked puzzled for a moment before Sam leaned over to hug Dean and whispered through his young tears, "You Dean… you're the best Christmas present there is."

_December 25th, 1993_

"This isn't right," Dean sighed before calling out, "_Dad, there's something seriously wrong with this picture!_"

John grinned as he walked through the opened back door and into the yard, "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's Christmas day, and it's eighty-four degrees out," Dean, despite the complaint, smiled, "No wonder Santa doesn't come visit us-- he'd melt!"

"Wrong Dean," eleven year old Sam commented from his position on the grass, "The snowman would melt if he came here; Santa doesn't come visit because you like to shoot things."

"Shut up Sammy," Dean laughed, and tossed a towel at his brother.

It was probably the nicest place that Dean could ever remember living at; a three bedroom house located in southern Arizona that had, not only a fenced in backyard, but also a tree fort. It was expensive though, and their Dad had told Dean that they wouldn't be there much past the new year, but for now, the brother's loved playing in the sprinkler they had set up, and playing in the fort.

"How about next time we move to Alaska, then we can make up for our lack of snow here," John half threatened, "Because we all know how much you like snow Dean."

"Yeah," Sam quipped up, "You were complaining when we were up in Wyoming, and there was barely any snow there."

"Didn't I already tell you to shut up?"

"Easy Dean," John warned, "Why don't you go inside and sit under the air conditioner. We're going to be moving in a couple of weeks, so you won't have the luxury of it for much longer."

"Can't we go on a hunt or something?" Dean sighed out, "It just doesn't feel like Christmas."

"Yeah, so we can spend the day in the ER again?" Sam spoke up bitterly as he stood to his feet.

"Last warning Sam," Dean shoot a look at his brother.

Sam grinned widely, and walked into the house. Though he teased his brother on the complaints, Sam did have to agree; it didn't seem like Christmas at all. There was no snow, no decorations at all, no Christmas trees, and their Dad explained that any gifts would come after the new year when he'd have a little more money. All that was happening that day was a barbeque, and in a couple of hours Pastor Jim, Bobby and Caleb would come by. That didn't make things much better as Sam knew all that they would do would be sit around and talk about hunting for hours.

Going into his room, Sam softly closed the door and went over to his bed. He wished they could stay there longer just because of the bed that he had-- it held three drawers on the lower half and had a tall headrest with bookshelves in it. Plenty of room to hide stuff from Dean, who had taken up habit of snooping through Sam's things.

"I know Dad said that we were waiting until New Years," Sam mumbled to no one in particular as he opened up one of the drawers, "But something special should happen today."

Carefully, Sam pulled out a neatly wrapped package that he'd tapped up with the Saturday morning comics. Being careful to be quiet, Sam snuck out of his room, and into Dean's significantly more messy room.

"Merry Christmas Dean," Sam whispered, placing the package on his big brother's bed.

It would be many hours before Dean walked into his room, and opened the gift. But when he did, it would be the first time in a long time that the fifteen year old would cry. Fore wrapped up carefully in the comics was a red frame that Sam had obviously made, and inside was a picture of Dean and his Mom on his first Christmas.

_December 25th, 1994_

John had been acting suspicious the whole week leading up to Christmas. They were, not surprisingly, strapped on cash, but John had promised them both that they'd get something that Christmas, and that they'd celebrate it properly. Michigan held snow that year at Christmas time, so John found himself entertained as he watched twelve year old Sam and sixteen year old Dean have a snowball fight out in the front yard of their low rental place.

"Watch it Dean!" Sam cried out between laughter, "You got an advantage!"

"Yeah, I'm way better at this than you!" Dean taunted back, landing a snowball square between Sam's shoulder blades.

"No!" Sam called back, and lifted his left arm up.

It was impossible to tell with his snowsuit overtop, but Dean knew he was trying to point out the cast which covered half of his arm. It was two weeks earlier during what was thought to be a mundane hunt, that Sam had been shoved down some stairs and broke his arm.

"You don't throw with your left arm," Dean threw another snowball; this one hitting Sam on his forehead, causing snow to cascade down his face, "Opps."

"You're going to get it!" Sam shouted out playfully, making a beeline for his brother.

With a warriors cry, Sam pounced on Dean, sending the two to the ground with a soft thump. Sam had the advantage this time as he sat on top of Dean, and struggled to shove his face into the cold snow.

'_Damn, when the hell did you get so strong?!_' Dean thought as he struggled against his little brother.

"Face wash!" Sam declared as he finally pinned Dean down and smashed half of his face into the soft snow.

"Body wash!" Dean shot back as he picked up a handful of snow and shoved it down the front of Sam's jacket.

A delighted scream of shock escaped Sam's mouth as he rolled back. A wrong move as seconds later Dean had pounced over, and now had him pinned to the snow. The elder brother was just about to return the favor of a face wash when John spoke up from his vantage point at the door.

"Ok boys-- come on in!"

"To be continued," Dean playfully threatened, getting to his feet.

Extending an arm, Dean helped Sam to his feet, and the two Winchester's went back into the warmth of the house. The front door connected almost immediately into the living room, so as they undressed from their hats, mitts, snow pants and jackets, they could easily see the set up John had done this year. A full sized Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room; the pride and joy of the two brother's who had decorated it with everything from stringed popcorn, to the handmade Santa's and most importantly, their Mom's ornaments. Throughout the rest of the room other Christmas decorations had been pinned and tapped to the wall. Garland strung across one wall had held the stockings which had been opened first thing in the morning to reveal the small trinkets, toys and candy which every kid loved.

"Hot chocolate's on the table," John smiled as his rosy-cheeked boys walked into the living room.

"Wow Dad," Dean looked impressed as he took his drink and sat on the couch, "You're really going all out this year."

"Yeah," Sam sat cross legged on the floor, taking careful sips of his own hot chocolate, "Why?"

John laughed, "Don't seem so shocked-- I know I've really been into hunting lately, but your old man still has a _little_ Christmas spirit left."

"He's going to want something from us later," Sam shot a sideways look at Dean.

"Something big," Dean grinned.

"Funny," John rolled his eyes, as he walked over to the tree, took a small box from underneath it, and handed it to Dean, "This is for you Dean."

"It looks like a ring box," Dean observed.

"I think Dad's hinting at wanting you to get a girlfriend," Sam quipped up.

"I think someone has a soar shoulder," Dean responded, and swiftly smacked his little brother in the shoulder.

John laughed at his son's bickering, "Just open it Dean."

Eagerly the sixteen year old ripped opened the packaging, and found himself staring at a white box. With a small flint of worry that it was a ring, Dean opened up the box, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"No way Dad…"

"What is it?" Sam eagerly asked as he scrambled to peak at the present.

Carefully, and with a shaking hand, Dean lifted up a shinny new key-ring with a key attached to the end which he immediately recognized.

"You better take care of it," John had a large smile on his face as he watched his son's stunned look.

"Dad…" Dean breathed, trying to find the words, "The… the car?"

John nodded, "I've been saving up to get myself a new vehicle, and was able to put a down payment on a truck-- I want you to have the Impala; you'll need it."

Wordlessly Dean got to his feet, and shoved all tough teenager pride aside as he grabbed his Dad in a tight hug. I small sob came from Dean as he tried to feebly wipe away the tears which were threatening to leak over.

"Thank you so much Dad," Dean's voice was soft and emotion filled.

John smiled and ran a quick hand through Dean's hair, "You're welcome Dean."

"He got a _car!?_" Sam suddenly cried out from his position on the floor, "How is that fair in _any_ way?"

John looked down at his youngest, "Don't worry Sammy, I have something for you too."

"I bet it's not a car," Sam pouted, folding his arms across his chest.

"What good would a car be for you?" Dean questioned as he returned back to the couch, "You don't even know how to drive."

Sam remained quiet to this comment as John went back over to the tree and grabbed out a medium sized package.

"Here you go Sammy," John's eyes twinkled, "I'm thinking you're going to like it, so cheer up."

Sam couldn't help but smile as he took the present, and eagerly opened it.

His chest dropped though, as he noticed it was just clothes, "Umm… thanks Dad."

John laughed, "Look closer Sammy."

Curiously Sam pulled the blue and yellow stripped clothes out of the wrapper more, and held them up. It was as he did this, that the youngest Winchester's eyes widened some as he saw his name stitched into the sleeve of the shirt.

"Dad, is this---?" Sam stood to his feet to get a better look at what he saw now was matching shorts and a t-shirt.

John grinned, "The indoor soccer team starts in January. You're all signed up."

"Oh wow!" Sam leaped into John, and squeezed his Dad tightly, "Thanks Dad!" the excitement then dropped as realization of something occurred, "Wait…"

"What?" John held Sam at arms length and looked into his sudden sunken excitement.

"Soccer lasts a long time," Sam spoke quietly, "And we always move every couple of months…"

John shot out another smile, "That's another thing," he looked at Dean, "That both of you will like. I've rented out this place until July-- so you can both get used to it here for a while."

"Alright!" Dean got to his feet now, "That's _awesome_ Dad! There's this girl, Erica, who wanted me to take her to the spring dance--"

The rest of the evening went by in a loud, happy, teasing Christmas blur. Even if there was no turkey in the oven, or lights on the outside of the house, John knew exactly how to make Christmas happy. And both brothers had to admit-- it had been the best Christmas in a long time.

_December 25th, 1996_

"Please Dad!" Dean begged, tears streaking down his face, "_Please!_ Just call the police!"

It was all John could do to keep the tears from falling down his own face as he stared at his eighteen year old son, "Dean, we've been over this--"

"I don't care!" Dean shouted, "It's been two days Dad!"

"Dean," worry in the form of anger was bubbling up in John, "Sammy wasn't--" the hunter was forced to clear his throat, "Sammy wasn't taken by a person. He didn't run away. He was taken by a _God damn_ spirit. Now what, I ask you, do you propose the police would do?"

Dean had no answer, but instead stood numbly outside the Impala. His Dad, unfortunately, was right. It wasn't as though there was no one looking for his fourteen year old brother-- John had called everyone from Pastor Jim, to Bobby to Caleb and even some other people that Dean had never met. Everything was to no avail, as the wooded area that Sam was taken from remained silent to anything supernatural.

"Dad it's Christmas," Dean whispered out desperately.

"I know son," John took a step forward, and pulled Dean into a hug, "Everything will be ok-- Sammy will be ok."

Dean closed his eyes as he held onto his Dad, and would have stayed there for much longer if it weren't for the shout coming from the edge of the woods.

"John!" it was Bobby, "John!"

John immediately let go of Dean and ran over to his friend, "Bobby-- did you find him?"

Bobby shook his head, "No… but Caleb and I found the bones of the spirit." John's eyes widened, "It was that Atticus person who worked for the logging company. Apparently the workers who killed him just shoved his body into the ground near where the site used to be. We burnt the bones."

"Dad," Dean breathed, having heard the good news, "Does that mean that Sammy is free?"

John washed his hand over his face, "I don't know… I don't know what they did to…" John closed his eyes, his heart pounding.

Bobby placed a hand on John's shoulder, "He'll be ok John. You've done a fine job with your boys."

John nodded mutely.

"I'm going to find him," Dean declared suddenly, "I'm not going to sit on my ass and wait for some person to find my brother dead."

John knew that he should have gone after Dean; his eldest was too upset to be on proper guard for hunting. The only reason he didn't do this was because of the fact that the spirit of Atticus was gone now, and he knew it would do Dean some good to look on his own for a while.

It was dark by the time Dean found himself back at the car again. Bobby, Caleb and the rest of the searchers had left for the evening, and John announced that because the spirit was no longer in play, he was going to call the police the next morning.

"Can we stay just a little longer?" Dean asked as his Dad headed towards his truck.

John turned exhausted to Dean, "Why?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know-- I just have a feeling. Please."

John nodded, knowing his boys had a special relationship that not even he understood, "Alright."

Dean went inside the Impala, and started up the car so as the headlights were on high beams and shooting out into the forest area. Taking que, John went back over to the truck and did the same before walking over to Dean.

"Merry Christmas Dad," Dean whispered staring out into the wooded area.

"Merry Christmas Dean."

It didn't seem like much time went by, and in fact, it had only been around half an hour before Dean's sensitive ears picked up a noise coming from just out of sight. John subconsciously pulled out his gun, but Dean took a step closer when the noise turned into movement of the leaves.

"Hello?" Dean called out.

An immediate burst of noise burst out to the father and son.

"_Dean!!_"

Before Dean could even make a reply, Sam's form clambered out from the trees. His chubby form from years gone by had since drawn to a tall and lanky figure with askew hair that the youngest seemed to enjoy keeping long in an attempt to aggravate his brother and father. Sam's figure now seemed even more skinny and pale, and his hair was messy and matted. Blood had soaked through his sweater in certain spots, and there looked to be a nice sized cut running across his forehead.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed out.

Sam had barely made it out into the grassy clearing before Dean had met up with him and grabbed Sam in a rib cracking hug. Sam squeezed his eyes shut in pain, but hugged back with all his might in a rare Winchester brother sentimental moment.

"Dean!" John shouted rushing over, "He could be hurt!"

Dean tried to pull Sam away, but the young hunter continued to hold on tightly, sobbing into Dean's shirt.

"Sammy," John breathed as he finally got to his two sons; the light from the vehicles shinning onto the reunion, "Sammy…"

John pried his youngest off of Dean as Sam now moved to John in a large hug. John held on tight, closing his own eyes as his tears wrestled with him.

"Sammy I need you to listen to me," John finally spoke hoarsely, "Sammy… look at me son."

Sam took a deep breath and obliged, and looked up at his Dad. John scanned up and down his youngest boys body, inspecting every inch from his dark matted hair, to his blue sweater, to his mud packed shoes.

"Sammy," John took his own deep breath, "Are you hurt?"

Sam's lower lip trembled slightly, "My head hurts a bit. But not that bad."

Dean walked around to inspect for himself the injuries of his little brother, and felt tears return again to his eyes. His brother had never looked so beat up before, and yet so gloriously alive and… Samish.

John ran a hand over the cut on Sam's forehead, "I'll clean it up and maybe put a stitch or two in when we get back."

Sam stared at his Dad a few more moments before he collapsed again into his strong arms and whispered softly, "I was so scared Dad."

John held tight onto Sam, one hand on the back of his head, "It's ok Sammy… you're ok. I've got you…"

Dean sniffled loudly and placed a hand on top of Sam's hair, brushing it back in a meager attempt to have physical contact with his brother that had been missing for far too long. Finally the family moment ended, and John knew that he had to get Sam back home to get some food into him, and to fix up the wounds properly.

"Do you want to ride back with me or Dean?" John asked looking at Sam carefully.

A small smile touched Sam's lips, "Dean?"

"Ok," John grinned at the answer he already knew as he turned to Dean, "You'll keep an eye on him?"

"Yes Sir."

"And make sure he doesn't drift off to sleep," John warned, "I want to take a good look at his head first."

"Ok," Dean nodded as John squeezed Sam's shoulder and walked off towards his truck.

Dean walked slowly to the Impala with his arm draped over Sam's shoulder. Sam leaned in affectionately to his big brother.

"I guess we're even now," Dean whispered out.

"What do you mean?" Sam turned to look at the red eyed Dean as they stopped outside the car.

Dean grinned and forced the tears out of his throat, "You're the best Christmas present I could have asked for Sammy."

_December 25th, 1998_

"Sammy!" Dean shouted from the front door, "Yo Sam!"

"What?!" Sam called from his room down the hall.

The younger brother could almost hear the smile in Dean's voice, "Your _girlfriend_ is here."

Sixteen year old Sam thumped quickly out of his room, and skidded to a stop by the door. Before him stood, beside his brother, a beautiful girl. Her auburn wavy hair was half pulled up, and she wore a red and green miniskirt with white tights on underneath. A white button down blouse and long hanging necklace completed the Christmas look.

"Elizabeth," Sam grinned, "Hi."

Elizabeth smiled a perfect smile, "Hi Sam."

Shyly Sam held out a small box to her, and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek, "Merry Christmas."

"Oh Sam!" Elizabeth grinned, "Thank you!" She handed a tall wrapped present to Sam and winked, "My Dad helped me buy this."

Sam laughed, "Thanks. Why don't you come on in."

"Sure," Elizabeth slipped off her boots, and walked towards the living room.

"Not bad Sammy," twenty year old Dean mumbled quietly as he followed behind, "At least a nine."

Discreetly Sam shot his elbow backwards and smiled with satisfaction when he heard his brother's grunt. Once in the living room, Elizabeth opened her present and made a large fuss over the earrings Sam had bought. Sam, in turn, opened his present and got an immediate response from Dean as he pulled out a large bottle of rum.

"I can _definitely_ help you there Sammy," Dean grinned.

"It's _Sam_," Sam correctly flatly.

"Hey Sam, Elizabeth--," John walked in from his previous location of the kitchen, "Super will be in about ten minutes."

"Ok Dad."

"Thank you Mr. Winchester," Elizabeth grinned politely.

It was Sam's first real girlfriend, and John had promised him that he'd make a nice Christmas dinner, and that he could invite Elizabeth over. Sam was nervous and excited about this idea. He knew his Dad was going to be going out just after dinner time on a hunt, and that would leave him alone with just Elizabeth and Dean.

Something he was not looking forward to.

Dinner went by without a hitch. John had bought a nice sized turkey, and, after two calls to Bobby and one to Pastor Jim, had cooked it to perfection. The actual eating went by smoothly for Sam; his family making friendly small talk, and laughing at memories gone by. It was when Sam knew that their Dad was going to be going that the youngest Winchester started to get nervous.

"Sam!" John called while they were still sitting in the kitchen enjoying some pumpkin pie, "I'm going to head out now, why don't you come in here for a minute!"

Sam walked into the living room, and went to the front door, "Yeah Dad?"

John had a bag flung over one shoulder, and made sure to check that Elizabeth wasn't watching before pulling a shot gun out from behind the door, "I'm going to be leaving now. I shouldn't be gone more than three or four days; Dean has a number to get me at. If I'm not back by Thursday, call Pastor Jim, and go over there, ok?"

Sam nodded, "Ok."

John looked past Sam at the kitchen before turning his attention back to his youngest, "And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

John had a sly look on his face, "Not over night, and keep the door open."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Bye Dad."

Almost immediately after John left, Elizabeth entered the room, and began to admire the small Christmas tree set up in the corner.

"I love the tree," she spoke softly, "Everything looks so handmade and special on it."

"Yeah," gently Sam took hold of her hand and lead her to one side, "Right here--" he pointed to the small blue ornament that claimed his name on it, "My Mom gave this to me the year I was born."

"Wow," Elizabeth fingered it softly, "It's beautiful."

Sam pointed out Dean's one as well, "That one's Dean's. They've always been really special."

Elizabeth smiled as Sam leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss. The Christmas day moment lasted only a few seconds before Sam heard someone clear their voice, and with a peeved expression, turned around to see Dean standing there.

"Hi," Dean grinned widely, "Can I talk to you for a second Sam?"

Sighing deeply, Sam excused himself and walked over to Dean, who still had a proud smile on his face for interrupting the moment.

"This better be important," Sam muttered.

"Oh it is," Dean nodded, "I wanted to let you know that I was going out for a while… a long while. And--" Dean pulled out a small wrapped package, "I got you something."

Sam's face softened in confusion, "But you already got me that book."

"I know," Dean nodded, "It's extra. Anyways-- I'm heading out," he winked, "I'll ring the bell before I come in."

Confused, Sam watched as his brother walked out of the door.

"Hey Sam," Elizabeth's voice rung with seduction, "I'm going to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"Ok," Sam grinned widely, "I'll be waiting."

His girlfriend walked out of the room, and Sam looked down at the small package in his hand. It was smaller than even a ring box, and, wondering what the hell his brother was up to, Sam carefully opened it up.

His laugh could be heard all the way from the bathroom as Sam pulled out a condom from the Christmas wrapper. Yeah… this was going to be a _great_ Christmas…

_December 25th, 2000_

"Sam, duck!" Dean shouted moments before sending two rounds of rock salt at the spirit that was going after Sam.

Sam was on the floor, and could feel the ammo whiz by his head and the spirit disappear in a puff of wind.

"You ok?" Dean keep his eye out as he helped Sam to his feet.

"Yeah," Sam breathed hard, "What do you think? Ghost of Christmas past, present or future?"

Dean stared at his brother, "How many Christmas' have you been waiting to use that joke?"

Sam laughed, "You really don't want to know."

"Alright," Dean rolled his eyes and glanced once more around the room; aiming his flashlight into all of the corners, "So that definitely looked like that Raymond dude."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "But where the hell is Dad?"

"I don't know," the twenty-two year old brother sighed, "He keeps fricken taking off; which is pissing _me_ off."

"You get mad at Dad?" Sam asked deadpan.

"Shut up Sammy, or I'll feed you back to the ghost of Christmas past," Dean shot out, "There's still two more spirits in here, and if Raymond decides to come back, it'll be three."

Sam grabbed his pistol from the rim of his pants; it held only silver bullets in them; something that did nothing against the spirits they were after, but if anything else, the look of it may frighten a spirit.

"Why did Dad decide to do this hunt on Christmas day?" Sam finally asked as they toured their way back through the abandoned house.

"Sam, you'd complain if we were doing this in the middle of July," Dean pointed out.

"I just don't see why we have to be the ones to hunt," Sam shrugged, keeping his ears open for any sign of the spirits, "There's lots of other people out there _without_ kids who can hunt and do all of this."

"Sam we're not kids," Dean laughed, "You're eighteen, and I'm almost twenty-three dude. You were potty trained many years ago."

Sam frowned, but didn't say a word.

"Now what?" Dean stopped in exasperation, and turned towards his little brother, "Are you just going to be all grumpy, and selfish?"

"It's just not fair!" Sam cried out, "I mean-- I got an A+ in my pre-calc class, and all Dad was worried about was whether I'd finished my damn bow training."

"So?" Dean shrugged, "The man has priorities."

"Well he should get new ones!" Sam shot out, "I'd wish that he wasn't even my father, but he stopped being that years ago!"

"Grow up!" Dean's anger had reached it's limit, "You act like you hate the man! He's been nothing but good to us Sam!"

Sam scoffed, "Yeah… he's been great. You know what?-- I take that back. I _do_ wish that he wasn't my Dad."

"I would beat the crap out of you right now if it wasn't for the fact that I have a job to do," Dean spoke threateningly in a manner that told Sam that he would have followed through with his words.

Silently the two brother's walked on for a few more minutes in silence. Dean didn't want to show worry or panic, but the fact that their Dad was nowhere to be seen or heard created a small cold feeling in his stomach which was growing.

They reached the front door, and finally Dean spoke, his voice shaking slightly, "Hey Sam-- go wait in the car."

Sam immediately sensed something was up, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Sam," Dean swallowed back the feelings that were threatening to come over him, "Just go."

Sam paused a long moment, "What about Dad?"

Dean looked back inside the house, "Sam…"

"He's missing," Sam whispered.

"Just go--" Dean began.

"No, I'll help," Sam spoke quickly, "Let me help Dean."

"Sam, you just finished saying how you didn't even want the man to be your father!" Dean shot out, "Now just go wait in the car!"

"No!" Sam cried out, "I was mad Dean! Just like I'm going to be mad at you if you don't let me help!"

Dean could see the panic in Sam's eyes, and reluctantly let him continue through a new search of the house.

"I'm sorry Dean," Sam whispered after a few minutes of searching the second floor, "… for everything I said."

"Yeah, well tell Dad that," Dean spat out, "He thinks you've been pissed at him lately."

"I will," Sam vowed.

The search didn't take long, and it was when they heard their Dad's shout and solid pound on a door that they realized that one of the spirits had locked him in a room.

"Dad!" Dean shouted outside of the door.

"Dean!" John shouted back, "The damn thing sealed the door!"

"Which one?" Dean called out.

"That one," Sam answered in a quiet voice grabbed Dean's arm.

Dean swung around and saw another spirit advancing on them. It wasn't Raymond, but one that looked similar enough to be his brother or another close relative. This one was also different, as it held a long bladed knife in his hand.

"Oh no," Dean muttered out.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, "Shoot it!"

Dean shot once, but the spirit did nothing but move faster towards the two Winchester siblings. Dean let out a shout and put his arms out to protect Sam in any way possible. Vaguely aware of the fact that their Dad was yelling out to them from inside the room, Sam stepped out from behind Dean's protection and pointed his gun at the spirit.

In an instant, the angered essence let out a loud screech, and twirled into oblivion; sending dust and dirt flying up in the air in its wake. Everything then fell silent.

"It worked…" Sam breathed out in shock.

The door to the room which was holding their Dad slowly creaked open then, and next thing either brother knew, their Dad burst through.

"Sam! Dean!" he cried turning towards them, his eyes wide, "Are you guys ok?"

Dean numbly nodded, still not sure what happened.

"We're ok Dad," Sam smiled and sighed in relief at the sight of his Dad, "What about you? We were worried that you got hurt."

"I'm alright," John confirmed, "The spirit locked me in there as a trap to get you boys," John noticed the blue bruise forming on Sam's left cheek, and stepped forward, "You're hurt Sammy."

Sam put his hand to his face, "Naw… it's fine. It was from Raymond downstairs. But we got him out."

John nodded and turned to his eldest, "Dean?"

Dean chuckled, his eyes turning red from the dust which began to settle, "I'm fine Dad. I just--" he looked at Sam, "How'd you know to do that?"

Sam grinned, "These guys-- the spirits… they were killed execution style. Some guy made them all line up, and he shot them all in the back of the head. So-- I figured maybe… if I pointed a hand gun at it, it would freak out and leave."

"Good job Sammy," Dean nodded in approval, and then, upon noticing the look Sam was giving, added quickly, "Listen-- I'm going to go wait in the car. I think we know that the spirits of the Michael brother's are the ones causing problems here, and… yeah."

Once Dean was out of sight, Sam looked at John, "Listen Dad… I'm sorry for everything I've said to you."

John smiled and squeezed Sam's shoulder, "I know son."

"It's just hard for me," Sam tried to explain, "I'm not like you and Dean."

"And we're not asking you to be," John insisted, "It's just sometimes you have to follow the rules. No matter how hard it is."

Sam nodded, "I know. I'm just… sorry."

John smiled, "It's ok Sammy-- just next Christmas… lets try and keep the drama and head butting to a minimum."

Sam returned the grin, "Merry Christmas Dad."

_December 25th, 2003_

"Dad this is stupid," Dean rolled his eyes, "Why don't you just go in there and talk to him?"

"I can't," was all John spoke in response.

"It's Christmas!" Dean reminded, "If the two of you can't stop your stupid arguing for the one day of the year, then you're both God damn--"

"Dean," John looked threateningly at his twenty-five year old son, "Drop it."

Dean sighed and watched at his Dad finished the final touches on the medium sized box. Not one person in the Winchester family was the least bit creative, but Dean had to admit-- the box was wrapped pretty good-- complete with a large, red festive bow.

"Do you want to take it up?" Dean asked softly, "Or do you want me to?"

John looked up from their place outside of the apartment building. He knew it was where Sam lived through simple investigation; though he'd never been inside. With a deep breath, he looked at Dean with an almost sad smile on his face.

"I'll take it up."

Dean nodded wordlessly as John got out of the car and walked across the street. Silent footsteps went up the stairs, and John placed the package outside the door. He could hear laughing and giggling coming from inside, and the faint sound of Christmas carols. Wishing more than ever that he could knock on the door and speak with a smile to his youngest, John sighed.

"Merry Christmas Sammy," John whispered out as he knocked on the door and quickly ran out of sight.

"Sam, did you hear that?" Jessica asked from inside the apartment.

"Yeah," twenty-one year old Sam opened the door and looked down at the box, "Someone left something at our door."

"What is it?" Jessica joined her boyfriend at the door.

"I dunno," Sam said quietly, though a feeling inside of him tugged at who he suspected, "There's no card or anything."

"Lets look," Jessica suggested simply as Sam picked up the box and took it into the living room.

Jessica had insisted, as per the year before, to decorate the place in a full-on Christmas fashion. And so the living room reminded Sam, painstakingly, of when he was younger, and he and Dean used to decorate the living room. The couple had even put up a Christmas tree in one corner which the two had spend a full afternoon decorating.

"Come on," Jessica grinned pulling at the wrapper.

Sam smiled at her enthusiasm, though he held more of a curiosity towards the box. Once unwrapped, Sam opened it up, and the two began to go through the contents.

"Oh wow," Jessica breathed, pulling out a stuffed bear holding onto a Christmas cup filled with chocolate kisses, "This is great. Sam, who sent it?"

Sam silently shook his head negatively as he pulled out some more items. A bottle of Jack Daniels sat in one corner along with some Maxim magazines. The gifts were easily separated into feminine and masculine items, and Sam suspected that whoever dropped it off knew who they were giving it to.

"I don't get it," Jessica finally whispered as they got near the bottom, "Who would do this for us?"

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as he pulled out the last two items, "I think I know…"

Fore in each hand Sam held something different. His right held a ornament that had always seemed to be much bigger in his hand; a blue one with the inscription of _Samuel Winchester_ written on it, and in the left; a red one reading none other than _Dean Winchester_.

_December 25th, 2006_

Twenty-eight year old Dean could still remember, if he tried hard enough, his first Christmas without his Mom. He remembered being sad a lot, and not wanting to do anything. He remembered his Dad tickling his stomach, and then him and baby Sammy sitting in front of the Christmas tree talking about their Mom and all of the stuff that they did. It was the first Christmas without his Mom, and Dean would never forget it. He knew, also, that he'd never forget this Christmas either.

The first without his Dad.

"Find anything Dean?" Sam asked walking into the hotel room they had rented out.

"Huh?" Dean snapped back to the present time as he looked up at his twenty-four year old brother.

Sam smiled, "Did you find a new gig for us?"

"No," Dean sighed and closed the laptop, "It's pretty quiet right now, so I guess we got a few days off."

Sam nodded and sat down on the bed; beer in hand, "What do you want to do?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged, "I guess we could just… hang out."

"Hang out?" Sam raised his eyebrows, "Dean… are you ok?"

Dean nodded, and swallowed his emotions, "Yeah. I'm good." he paused, "Hey… do you remember how Dad always used to try and make Christmas special?"

Sam knew what was wrong now.

"Dean…" the younger made his own pause in words, "Dad doesn't want us to forget Christmas, but he was never really enthusiastic about it."

Dean laughed lightly, "Yeah… I guess you're right."

"I seem to recall one of them spent in the hospital waiting for your ass to wake up after you decided to fall of a roof," Sam teased.

"_Pushed_ off," Dean corrected, "And I wasn't the only one who spent time on Christmas day in the hospital. You and your amazing disappearing act you pulled that one year-- Dad ended up taking you to the hospital for that."

"But it wasn't until the next day," Sam grinned teasingly, "I got to ruin Boxing Day."

"Whatever," Dean laughed, "But yeah… I guess we did have some interesting Christmas'…" he winked at Sam, "And some more interesting than others."

Sam blushed slightly, "Shut up."

"Hey, I rang the bell first," Dean stated, "You just got to learn to--"

"Shut up Dean," Sam insisted to Dean's wide grin.

Dean got up and grabbed his own beer from the fridge; making a mental note to buy some more when they had time. Everything was silent for a few moments before Dean felt it time to say something.

"Hey Sammy?"

"Humm?" Sam pried his eyes away from the fuzzy tv.

"I--" Dean cleared his throat, "I got something. I mean… I know we don't do the whole Christmas thing… but… I thought that something needed to be done."

Sam crinkled his forehead, "Needed to be done about what?"

"Dad," Dean whispered quietly.

Sam watched in silence as Dean walked over to his bag and pulled out a white grocery bag. Carefully he handed it over to Sam.

"Dean… what did you get?" Sam questioned.

"Just open it Sammy," Dean's voice was oddly hoarse.

Wordlessly Sam took out the item from inside the bag, and knew why Dean's voice was going the way it was. Unable to do his brother's task, tears fell silently down Sam's face as he held onto it a small green ornament. It was similar to both Sam and Dean's ornaments with a few differences. This one didn't depict that of a baseball player, or a train tugging along. Instead the ornament had the simple logo of Superman on it on one side. On the other side, written in gold was two words.

_John Winchester_.

"Merry Christmas Sammy," Dean whispered out.

Sam smiled sadly and ran his hand across his Dad's name, "…and to all a good night…"

The End.


	48. Ignorance Is Bliss

_Disclaimer: The word no is in this story five times... _

_A/N: Howdy! I'm back now... well... at least for tonight. Haha-- I took some time off for a vacation, and to catch up on some writing. I'm glad you all liked my Christmas story! This story is another one of those stories that almost went into the chucker twice... but I saved it. I wrote the whole of it today, which is usually a good thing... when I write a story all at once. That way I keep with the same feelings through the whole thing.  
Anyways-- I have a favor to ask you all! Anyone that reads these stories, please... I want to know which one, so far, is your favorite. I did this at chapter 14 or something like that, and, the same thing, even if it's the only thing you write in your review, I'm curious to know which story you all like best. Thanks a bunch, and I hope you enjoy this one shot! _

* * *

_Title: Ignorance Is Bliss  
Genre: Drama with a back-burner of angst and fluff.  
Summary: While far sicker than he thinks, Sam decides to prove to Dean that he can take on a dangerous demon by himself. Thinking he can do it quick and make it back to the hotel before Dean awakens, Sam takes on the job without telling big brother. What Sam didn't expect was to wake up two days later in the hospital..._

Ignorance Is Bliss

Sam was slammed against the brick wall, feeling his left shoulder pop painfully out of place. Before he even had a chance to get a shot off, the thing had disappeared. Again.

"Damn it!" Sam shouted out for good measure, cradling his hurt arm.

Briefly Sam looked around, a feeble hope of seeing Dean. It was pointless-- Dean didn't even know Sam had left the hotel room, so why would his big brother come to his rescue? An untimely cough caused Sam's arm to jar painfully, and remind him of the reason why Dean wasn't there with him at that moment. The past two days had gone by in a furry of research and investigating on a shadow demon which was terrorizing people in the back allies in the small city of Jamieson. The problem began at the same time the research started when Sam began to get a cough and fever. Nothing big, the younger brother had insisted, just a cold. But Dean refused, even after finding all the information out about the demon, to let Sam go on the hunt while he was sick.

That, of course, turned into an argument. One that Sam sorely wished he hadn't instigated as his idea of winning the argument was to sneak out and try and find more information on the shadow demon. More information being finding, and currently getting his ass kicked, by the piece of evil. Sam would be sure to blame his fever on the stupid idea.

"Son of a bitch," Sam mumbled reaching for his bag with his right arm.

Inside he grabbed out Dean's favorite lighter that he had rigged to stay lit after throwing. The research the brother's had done had proven that the particular demon they were fighting with could be vanquished one way… by setting it on fire. Not exactly an easy job as in order to do that, the hunter would have to get directly in the demon's wrath.

"_Hey!_" Sam's chest heaved painfully as he choked down a strangled cough, "Get you ass over here!"

Like a bad tempered dog, Sam realized all too soon that the thing was going to listen in a violent way. He was smashed against an old dumpster before he could even see the thing materialize. The demon was like a black mass that could materialize in and out of whatever it liked; not helping matters at all in the hunting process. Half laying on the ground, Sam opened the lighter, and threw it blindly towards the advancing evil.

Loudly, a twister of wind swept through the ally, followed by a loud screech sound coming from the demon which disappeared into oblivion. Sam would have rejoiced in his quick thinking if it weren't for the unbelievable pain radiating through his body. The hunter couldn't even pinpoint the exact location that the hurt was coming from, but rather summed it up in a full body ach.

"One thing's for sure," Sam squeezed his eyes shut in pain as he got to his feet, "If Dean sees me like this, he'll freak."

Sam's main concern was his dislocated shoulder, and as another deep, wracking cough erupted though his body, he remembered why. Using his good arm, Sam reached into his pants pocket for his wallet to check its contents. With a small smile he found the new credit card Dean had got; what better way to test it than a quick trip to the ER.

The blood that dripped down from Sam's head also gave clue that this was a wise choice.

"I'll be back before Dean even wakes up," Sam smiled, noting the time as only a half past three in the morning, "What Dean doesn't know, won't hurt Dean."

Yeah-- he was definitely going to blame this one on his fever.

If someone asked Sam later what had happened after that, he wouldn't have been able to say. What he could remember of the events were fuzzy at best, and the only parts clear were the drive to the hospital, then collapsing in the front entrance. Random bouts of consciousness brought questions from doctors that Sam attempted to answer, but guessed he did incorrectly as the same questions were asked several times. Each time he awoke, Sam's world was wracked with pain and heat, and he gladly slipped back into unconsciousness.

Finally the hunter awoke to a world that was cool and somewhat more comfortable than before. Opening his eyes, Sam squinted around at the white hospital room he was in. Something was missing as all his surroundings slowly came into focus and his mind cleared. Something that was usually there.

"Dean!" Sam suddenly gasped as he sat up in the bed, his world spinning around.

Sure enough, Dean was nowhere in sight, and Sam felt his heartbeat slowly increase, and a cold feeling form in his stomach. Right as he was about to press the nurse button beside him, just that walked into his room.

"Oh, hi there Mr. Willard," the nurse was young and smiled widely, "It's nice to see you awake. Did you need anything before I grab the doctor?"

"How long has it been?" Sam asked frantically.

"Since what?" the nurse frowned, "You were checked in?"

Sam nodded and watched as the nurse walked over to the chart attached to the end of his bed. Quickly she scanned down the information before looking back up at the patient.

"It's been just over two days."

"Oh no," Sam whispered, his eyes widening.

"What's wrong?" the nurse took a step forward.

Sam's hand was covering his mouth as he mumbled out, "What happened to me?"

"You came in the middle of night on Saturday," the nurse explained what she knew, "You just collapsed in the lobby. Doctors were fixing to work on your initial injuries," she looked at the chart again, "Your dislocated shoulder, and bad lacerations to your forehead and right leg. But while doing this, you just got worse, and they realized that you also had severe pneumonia. By the looks of it, they were pumping a lot of drugs into you, so that's why it took you so long to become…" she paused for thought of words, "lucid."

Sam brushed past the information of his heath to a more important question, "Has there been anyone in here to visit me? At all?"

The nurse shook her head, "No. At least not while I've been here. The doctor wanted to talk to you, actually, to see if there was someone we could call for you."

"Damn it," Sam cussed, closing his eyes briefly, "No… I'm good. I'll get a hold of him myself."

_Dean was going to kill him!_

The nurse gave a quizzical look at Sam before leaving the room to find a doctor. Sam's mind raced with thoughts; if it had been over two days, and Dean hadn't shown up once, then there was no way this was going to end good. Sam knew he had to get a hold of Dean any way possible, and looking beside him, he saw a phone. Eagerly the younger brother picked up the receiver, pressed nine, and then dialed his brother's number; hoping against all hope that Dean would pick up.

It was almost three rings before there was an answer, "Hello?"

Sam smiled as he spoke, "Hey Dean."

"Sam!" Sam actually had to pull the phone away from his ear at Dean's bellow, "Where the hell are you?!"

Sam swallowed before divulging exactly what his brother didn't want to hear, "I'm at Concord Memorial…"

"Are you hurt?" Dean's question overlapped Sam's answer.

"Umm," Sam paused; what was one more lie? "Not really."

"I'm coming," Dean's voice sounded strange, "Just stay put."

Sam didn't have time to respond as Dean hung up immediately afterwards. After successfully letting his anxious big brother know his whereabouts, Sam's next objective was to get out of bed and make himself presentable to the person he knew was going to be incredibly mad and worried about him. Carefully Sam swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood up; careful of the dizzy and nauseous feeling threatening to take over. An IV was stuck into his right hand, and his left was stuck in a sling holding his shoulder in place. The younger Winchester also noticed that he was wearing hospital pants and shirt, and felt a small amount of embarrassment at the fact that someone had to of undressed him.

Sam briefly wondered why Dean was unable to find him at the hospital as he mentally calculated whether he'd be able to get dressed and out of the hospital before anybody noticed him.

"He'd have definitely checked all the hospitals," Sam mused to himself, then paused, "but… he has no clue what name is on my new card."

Sam smirked at his brother's series of unfortunate events. Then, closing his eyes briefly in preparation for the pain, Sam ripped out the IV tube, and watched the small trickle of blood roll down his hand. The two steps towards the small drawer that held his clothes reminded Sam of the cut he'd got on his leg, though he ignored it as he pulled out his dirty pants and, deciding to opt for the clean white shirt he had on, went straight to the small bathroom to change.

Less than two minutes later Sam walked out of the bathroom; the large wraparound bandage gone from his head, along with the sling that held his arm in place. Thankful that the doctor was taking his time, Sam grabbed his bag, slipped out the door and manage to get past the nurses station without anyone noticing.

"Alright Dean," Sam breathed in the cool air as he stepped outside, "You better hurry your ass up."

Though Sam wanted Dean to hurry in fear that security was going to find him first, he did enjoy breathing in the night air. It felt nice on his still soar chest, and Sam was just about to fish into his bag for his cell phone when he heard the Impala pull into the parking lot. Almost instantaneously, he heard a shout from someone coming after him from the hospital.

"Oh crap," Sam leaped towards the Impala just as Dean screeched it to a halt.

His leg screamed in pain from the jump, and then his arm throbbed from pulling open the passenger side door, but the second he got in, Sam ordered Dean to go.

"Sam--!" Dean started.

"Just _go!_" Sam repeated, glancing in the mirror to see the security guard shouting and throwing gestures at the car.

They didn't even make it two blocks before Dean pulled into a secluded parking lot, wordlessly swiveled around to turn on the light and then looked at Sam with a look of determined anger. Sam stared blankly back, waiting for Dean to speak first.

"You're a fricken asshole!" Dean burst out, his eyes wide, "What the _hell_ were you thinking!?"

"I--"

"I don't care!" Dean interrupted, his torso completely turned towards his little brother, "You go out, in the middle of the night to get your ass kicked! You don't tell me of course, instead let me find my fricken car in the lockup with some bitch who won't tell me where it was towed from," Dean took an angry breath, and Sam felt it best to let his brother finish, "Two days Sammy! I worried about your ass for two days!"

Sam sighed, "Dean…"

"You know this is why Dad always fricken yelled at you when we were little," Dean rambled on, "You go off halfcocked! And while you were fricken sick man!" Dean's voice was breaking with emotion and adrenaline, "One of these days some demon is going to come and finish you off Sammy, and all because you want to jump in and be the hero. This is not the way to do it! We are a team Sam; how the hell am I supposed to watch your back if I don't know where it is? I'm--" Dean swallowed hard, "I'm not going to be around a lot longer Sammy, and-- and if you do this, and get your ass wasted by some demon stuck up on being some destiny's bitch…!"

Dean was breathing hard by this point, and Sam finally took the opportunity to speak, "You done?"

Dean remained silent.

"Dean…" Sam sighed deeply, still feeling the tightness in his chest, "… I'm sorry man…"

"Why?" the one word came from Dean's mouth, and held almost as much emotion as his whole rant did.

Sam struggled to think of an answer, "I just… I was pissed at you. I thought if I could do this on my own then," Sam stared down at his hands, "…then maybe I'll be ok."

"You'll be fine Sammy," Dean's voice dramatically changed into his soft big brother tone, "You just--" a smile tugged at his features, "You gotta time your little Superman acts a little better dude."

Sam swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he looked up at Dean, "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Over twenty years with me, and you're just figuring this out now?" Dean mocked surprise and spoke after a moment of silence, "Ok… so spill."

"Spill what?" Sam smiled.

Dean laughed lightly, "You lied to me on the phone. I highly doubt you spent the last two days doing your hair."

Sam nodded, "Yeah… my plan of getting back to the hotel before you noticed didn't quite work. Main thing was pneumonia-- I was out of it for the whole time or I swear I would have called you."

"I'm sure," Dean tried to make light while still inspecting his little brother's injuries, "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm alright," Sam nodded.

"You sure?" Dean was trying not to push, but didn't feel the need to hide his worry, "'cause there's other hospitals nearby that don't currently have your picture plastered on their most wanted list."

Sam laughed, "I'm fine Dean," he shot a teasing look at his brother, "I promise I'll warn you if I feel I'm going to swoon."

Dean shot a look out as he turned off the light in the car, "Bitch."

Sam relaxed at his brother's tease, "Jerk."

The Impala once again headed out onto the endless roads that it seemed to beckon, and Sam leaned into the seat. A smile crept to the younger Winchester's face that he made sure to hide from Dean. The memories from the past few days were, in truth, sketchy at best, but Sam did recall one fact of the mater. Dean favorite lighter was probably still sitting in the abandoned back ally.

Oh well.

What Dean doesn't know, won't hurt Dean.

The End.


	49. Devil's Deal

_Disclaimer: Naw, they ain't mine... but since the writers aren't using them right now, I'm borrowing 'em. _

A/N: Well, I haven't pissed you guys off in a while, so I decided I'm going to do that tonight. Haha-- I'll explain about that in a minute... but first-- thanks for the input guys! Even if many of you couldn't decide which was your favorite, it was pretty cool to see what you did think. Anyways-- onto me pissing you off. It's tonight's one shot. No-- **not** a death fic, but definately not a happy fic. It's my preminitional guess of how season three is going to end-- how Dean will live, and so forth. Basically I've had this idea in my head for a LONG time, and I wanted to get it out here just incase it is what happens, and I can point back and go 'I told ya so!'. But yes-- it's not a death fic, but those of you who don't like not-happy stories... stray away. I don't expect many reviews for this, but for those of you who do dare it-- try to enjoy!

* * *

Title: Devil's Deal  
Genre: Dark-- nice and dark.  
Summary: My take on what could possibly happen to end Dean's deal...

Devil's Deal

"Why Sammy, I must say that I'm a little shocked… though not entirely surprised," the demon that stood before the youngest Winchester took the form of the 'average Joe'.

Though his eyes stung a painful yellow. Even more powerful was this one than the last yellow eyed demon which had caused pain and hurt in the world.

"I don't see why," Sam's voice was cold.

"You're turning against them," the demon inspected Sam's somber response, "Going against everything that big brother and brave Daddy taught you."

"I'm saving him," Sam spoke near a whisper.

"True," the demon agreed, "But what does Dean get back in return for living? His baby brother that he saved heroically from a fire at the age of four… gone."

"I won't be gone!" Sam defended loudly, "That _wasn't_ part of the deal."

"Oh you'll be in hell Sammy," yellow eyes chuckled and smiled sinisterly, "Just in the hell that people can see. You'll be in the one that's spilling out onto earth. And better yet… you'll be on our side."

Sam could feel the coldness forming in his stomach, "The deal is that I'll go with you if you let Dean out of his deal."

"Particulars Sammy-boy," the demon held up a hand, "You will not only be on our side, you will fight on our side."

"I won't hurt Dean," Sam stated.

"I wouldn't start making your own terms if I were you," the demon's mocking face turned serious, "Your brother's deal is up in less than twenty-four hours isn't it? And I still haven't closed this little proposition of yours."

"You want me on your side more than you want him," Sam reminded.

"Very true," the demon sighed dramatically, "But I just don't want you going against us once you have your way."

"I'm not going to hurt Dean," Sam reminded.

"Fine," his yellow eyes flickered, "You can have that. But you will lead as you were destined to do, and you will fight... or Dean's dead."

Sam swallowed hard, "Fine. Just as long as Dean's deal is broken, and he won't be going to hell."

"He can go wherever he wants Sammy," the demon smiled sinisterly.

"One more thing," Sam held his breath at his next request, "I want forty-eight hours."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"To--" Sam closed his eyes briefly to contain his emotions, "To say good-bye to Dean. And then to get as far away as possible from him. Then I'm yours."

A slow smile spread across the yellow eyed demon's face as he outstretched his hand. Taking another deep breath Sam nodded and shook.

-§-

Sam had been gone for over a week previous to making the deal with the demon. It had taken him far longer than he'd hoped to track him down, and it _had_ been close. He now only had forty-eight hours and counting to find Dean and then get away. For the month leading up, the brother's had discussed what they were going to do at the end of Dean's deal. The elder brother had insisted that he wanted to be alone at the time to make sure that Sam wouldn't get hurt in the cross-fire of whatever was going to happen. Sam was the opposite, and demanded that he be there with Dean until the end.

They hadn't yet come up with a compromise before Sam had left to make his deal with the devil, and now he wanted to get back to Dean before he realized that he wasn't going to be taken to hell.

"Thank you," Sam whispered in relief at the sight of Dean's Impala parked outside the same motel they were in when he left.

Ditching the stolen car at the end of the street, Sam jogged the way to the building, and banged loudly on the door.

"Dean, it's me!" Sam shouted.

Almost immediately the door flung open, and Dean stood there. The older brother's face was pale and his eyes pink, giving Sam indication that Dean had been crying recently. Sam swallowed back his guilt; he didn't have much time-- he had to get as far away as possible.

"Sammy," Dean's voice cracked, "Where the hell were you? Are you ok?"

Sam nodded, "I'm fine. How about you?"

Dean laughed at the question, "Dude… it's--" Dean closed his eyes briefly before looking back up at Sam, "You shouldn't have come back Sammy."

Sam smiled, "I had to."

Dean shook his head, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"From what?" Sam's own emotion threatened to leak over, "You're deal's broke Dean."

Dean stood still for a moment, staring at Sam, "W-What?"

"It's broke," Sam explained carefully, "I took care of it."

"How?!" Dean suddenly cried out as he began to pace, "We-- _you've_ been trying to find a way to fricken break this deal for a year now!"

"I found the demon," Sam half lied on his explanation, "It was the one that Bobby helped us track, and--" Sam shrugged, "I took care of it."

Dean's eyes were wide as select tears rolled down, "Are you serious man?!"

Sam looked down at his watch and spoke near a whisper, "It's been a year Dean."

Without warning Dean let out a laugh and lunged at Sam; pulling him into a hug for the first time since making the deal. Sam returned it with enthusiasm, relishing in seeing his big brother happy and alive once more. Dean finally broke away, and used his sleeve to wipe at his face.

"Wow," Dean laughed again, "I mean--" he grinned at Sam, "This calls for a major celebration! All drinks on me little brother."

Sam forced the lump out of his throat, "Definitely Dean. But-- but there's one thing I gotta do first."

Dean scrunched up his eyebrows, "What?"

Sam slipped his hand into the back rim of his pants unnoticed, "Dean… don't- don't forget what Dad told you."

The smile faded from Dean's face, "What do you mean what Dad told me?"

Sam pulled his gun out from behind his back, and landed it solidly to the side of Dean's head. Like dead weight Dean fell to the ground of the motel room. Sam knew as a fact there was no way that Dean would have just let him walk out of his life, and as Sam slowly bent down to Dean, a single tear rolled down his face.

"You're going to have to kill me Dean."

The End.


	50. Seconds to Live

_Disclaimer: Yup! And new studies have also shown that pigs can fly, the sky is actually green, the world is flat, and unicorns are real... minus the rainbows from their ass. _

A/N: Boo! Haha, made you look. Ok, so I'm back at school now; hence the few days wait for this next one. But school does mean more spare time, which hopefully means more writing. Ok... so one weird thing I've noticed... I've gotten two reviews on my disclaimers... haha-- they're nearly as hard to write as my one shots... Speaking of which! Tonights one is (hurray to one shot number 50!), a weird one. It's very philisophical... so I don't know if many of you will like it. But I didn't think I'd get more than 2 on the last one, and look what happened. Either way-- enjoy! Oh... and just to let you know, it **isn't** a death fic... the title just implies it. Haha...

* * *

Title: Seconds to Live  
Genre: Suspense.  
Summary: A demon finally caught up with Sam, leaving his lifeless body hanging from a tree. But sometimes what happens in mere seconds can seem a lot longer...

Seconds to Live

Sometimes a minute can seem like an eternity, a second can be forever. Then again, sometimes it passes before you even knew it was there. A person can have a thousand thoughts rush through their head in a fraction of a second-- their life replaying in sacred moments that all too soon can be taken away.

A person can have seconds to live, and a lifetime to remember,

Sam knew something was wrong when he became conscious, and could feel the rope around his neck. The air was cool and dark, tasting of pine and oak-- he was far away from anyone. A demon's usual methods of killing a person were-- not surprisingly, supernatural. This one, however, took great pleasure in killing its victims in seemingly suicidal ways.

Sam was no different.

The moment the young hunter's feet were left unsupported, and he felt the rope tightening around his neck, he knew his life was gone. Crickets chirped their song, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves of the tree that suspended the Winchester's life eight feet off the ground. No sound came from Sam, his free hands grasping desperately-- uselessly-- at the rope choking the life from him. Time was running out, as he could feel his body loose the fight to stay conscious.

Sam's mouth opened in a silent gasp, his eyes wide in fear.

_"Am I dead now?" Sam looked beside him at the beautiful blonde. _

Mary smiled, "No Love, you're not dead."

"But I'm going to be," Sam's voice sounded sad, "Soon. There's no one around right now-- no one to save me."

The sun shone brightly, though as Sam stared upwards from his position in a grass field, he saw numerous stars twinkling down at him.

"You'll be ok Sammy," Mary placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and rubbed gently, "No matter what happens, I promise you that you'll be ok."

Sam bit his lower lip lightly, choking back tears, "… I don't want to die Mom…"

Mary walked around to the front of her son, a smile on her face as she swept aside the single tear rolling down his cheek, "Everything will be ok Love," she paused, "Did I ever tell you about what happened when you were born?"

Sam shook his head, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Dean was little-- only four when I told him that he was going to get a little brother or sister," Mary smiled at the fond memory, "He was so excited, and asked every day when you were coming. You must have known how badly Dean wanted you because I was just past eight months pregnant with you when you decided to wake me up in the middle of the night."

Sam smiled slightly at this, his eyes still not meeting hers.

Mary continued, "When we got to the hospital, everyone was so excited. Then you came-- you were small, but healthy, and--" Mary sighed happily, "I don't think I've ever seen a smile so big on your Dad's face then when the doctor said that we had another little boy. And Dean… he loved you so much from the moment we placed you in his arms."

"He never told me any of this," Sam whispered out.

"Why would he?" Mary laughed softly, "Your brother was never one to tell someone his feelings. But," again Mary let out a smile that belonged only to her, "As your Dad and I tried to think of a name for you, it was Dean who was the one who spoke up. He'd just started preschool, and had a best friend there named Sammy. Leaving no question to it, Dean stated that the new baby's name would be Sammy-- his best friend."

Sam could feel the warm, salty tears crawling down his face, "Why did you tell me this Mom?"

Mary turned her son's face towards her, and kissed him where the sadness rolled down, "Since the day you were born, Dean has been there for you."

"I know Mom," Sam choked out, "But he's not here now. He- he's not here. Dean left, and is too far away."

"He never leaves you, and he never will," Mary assured, "You were his best friend then, and you are his best friend now. You just have to believe in him."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in a deep quiver, "I- I can't. It's too late, it's been too long."

"Sometimes…" Mary's voice was getting further away, as Sam noticed darkness once again seeping its way around him, "… sometimes a minute can seem like an eternity, and a second forever," Mary was gone now, and Sam could smell the pine and oak again, "… and sometimes that's all a person needs to save a life…"

"_Sammy!_" someone shook Sam firmly by the shoulder, "…oh God… Sammy! C'mon man, breath…" 

The younger Winchester was laying flat on his back now, and as suddenly as his breath had been taken away, he now felt it come back in a large rush of cool, fresh air.

Dean sighed in relief, letting the tears of fear mark their way down his rough face, "That's it little brother," his voice was soft and reassuring, "Just take a deep breath."

Feeling came back to Sam as he felt Dean lift his head up slightly, and a hand brush comfortingly through his hair. All his concentration went on breathing, each breath becoming less of a struggle as the swelling in his throat allowed the life back into him. It had been close-- too close as Dean's panicked voice had indicated.

It was nearly a minute before Dean spoke again, "Hey Sam… can you open your eyes up man?"

The request, though a simple one, was a struggle for Sam as his breath came through his raw throat. When his eyes finally did open, he stared up at the star splashed sky, blocked partly by the branches of the tree which tried to steal his life. He remembered the demon taking him, and then waking up just in time to be hanged alive. He remembered the seconds that followed as his life faded away from him… then nothing.

"Hey Sammy," Dean's smiling face appeared over top of him, as Sam felt himself be lowered completely to the ground.

"…Dean…" Sam's voice came out rough and quiet, "--up."

Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him into a sitting position. The younger brother looked around, spotting the rope just feet away.

"You--" Sam painfully cleared his throat, looking at Dean who sat crouched in front of him, "…you saved me."

Dean grinned and patted Sam on the leg, "Couldn't leave you hanging little brother. It's a bad look for you."

Sam smiled, "… thank you."

Dean cleared his throat, letting out and sniffle, "Yeah… are you ok Sammy?"

"I think so."

Dean breathed hard, "Good," a smile spread to the elder Winchester's features, "Because you scared the holy hell out of me Sammy."

Sam smiled, which caused the tears to threaten to flow over again for Dean as he spotted the harsh red marks reflect off Sam's neck from the moon light. From the time the older brother got there and saw Sam's lifeless body hanging from the tree, it had seemed like forever. A lifetime to get him breathing again, and even longer before he knew that Sam was even alive.

But it was over.

His Sammy was breathing, and alive, and smiling again. Dean Winchester would have his entire life, even if it was the last thing he did, to save Sam. His little brother would grow to be old, and happy, and even though Dean knew they'd have fights, or would swear vengeance on each other, they would be best friends forever.

Sometimes a minute can seem like an eternity, a second can be forever. Then again, sometimes it passes before you even knew it was there…

The End.


	51. Lollipops and Candy Canes

_Disclaimer: my brain isn't functioning enough to find a funny way to say no... _

_A/N: You guys are all fricken jerks. haha-- ok, I mean that with all the love and smiles of the rainbow. So last night at just past eight I posted yesterday's onshot. I thought it wasn't going to be taken well, and just figured it was a one shot that was sitting on my computer for a long time, and that I should post it up. Then last night... ugg... I got sick. Several times; about every hour. Finally, at about 3:30 in the morning, I got up, got sick, was in fricken tears 'cause all I wanted to do was sleep, and so to take my mind off of my hurting, I went on my computer. I came on this site... and I already had 10 reviews for the one shot. I started smiling after that-- I couldn't believe it! Thank you guys so much for the response to that one-- you made a really bad night a little better.  
Ok, I'm done rambling, I promise. Tonight's one shot is a drabble I wrote the other day because I didn't have the energy or brain power to write anything today. It's a 450 word drabble that Windy Fontaine gave me, and it had to have a teddy bear in it, and the words "Cereal? You got cereal?". Yeah... haha-- and I managed to do it. Well... thanks again for your reviews, and enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Lollipops and Candy Canes  
Genre: It's not really long enough to have a genre... I guess maybe angst with a hint of humor.  
Summary: Sam is taken by the spirit of a young girl who only wants her teddy bear back... 450 word drabble challenge!_

Lollipops and Candy Canes

Dean couldn't believe it as he held onto the brown stuffed teddy bear. He was so tempted to laugh, and would have if it weren't for the fact that Sam was involved in a not so good way.

Stupid Sam!

Why the hell did he have to ruin all the cases that could be the least bit entertaining by getting his ass into trouble? The spirit of a six year old kid had taken Sam the night before while the brother's scooped out their next gig in an old orphanage.

"A kid," Dean mumbled, a smile twitching at his face, "You got jacked by a kid Sammy…"

The situation was serious of course; Sam was missing. Dean had been contacted hours after his frantic search, and told that if he wanted Sam back, he'd have to return the young girl's teddy bear. It wasn't a hard task, Dean found out. A search of the orphanage records told of a young girl named Suzie who died at age six of pneumonia. Digging deeper, Dean found an old lock-up in the place where the wardens took the children's toys to when they were bad. Sure enough, inside was a small bear with the name 'Suzie' inscribed on the tag.

"Ok kid!" Dean yelled as he finally got to the spot where Sam had disappeared, "Show yourself!"

A loud rustle of wind swept through the area, and Dean stared as the image of a small girl appeared in front of him, quickly followed by Sam who was laying on his stomach in the grass.

"Sammy!" Dean took a step forward.

"Shh," Suzie spoke softly, "He's sleeping."

Dean wanted to get to Sam as quickly as possible, and so held up the teddy to see, "I got it. Let him go."

"My teddy!" Suzie cried out, then paused, "What else do you got?"

"What do you mean?" Dean actually laughed, "Cereal? You got cereal? 'Cause you know I can run down the store and get you some," Dean paused in his sarcastic ramble, "Just let him go!"

Suzie looked seriously at Dean before reaching her arm out, "Teddy?"

Dean held out the stuffed bear which was instantly ripped from his hands and flown to Suzie's outstretched ones. With a satisfied smile, Suzie squeezed the teddy bear into a hug and disappeared into oblivion.

"Sammy?" Dean dove over, going to his knees by his little brother, "Hey Sam?"

Gently Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and instantly he stirred. Slowly Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes wide.

"Sam, you ok?" Dean questioned.

Sam nodded, "I-I was dreaming."

"About what?"

Sam smiled, "Lollipops and candy canes…"

The End.


	52. Third Church

_Disclaimer: Haha... I like that on story 23 I was complaining of the possibilty of having 50 stories to have to say no in... isn't my face red now!_

_A/N: Wow! I should get a hundred points just for being able to make full sentences on that last one shot. I was so **not** feeling well... only today have I really felt 'normal'... though yesterday may have been because of my drinking the night before... I can't be sure. Haha, anyways, I got some stuff to say about this one shot. It's special. Why? Because it's based on a true story. Ok-- so half of it is. The whole first half of this story happened to me and two of my friends. Almost exactly as I wrote it-- I even copied most of the stuff that we said. It's kind of obvious where the fact part changes, but just to clarify... my friend was a complete wimp, and after she said that we should get out of there... we did. Other than that-- everything happened man! It was really creepy, and I was so stoked to be able to put it into a story. Well... enough rambling... I hope you enjoy it! (ahh... ps... the title of this story... the night we all went out, we went to 3 churches... this was the third one...)_

* * *

_Title: Third Church  
Genre: Suspense  
Summary: Sam and Dean go into an old, abandoned church at the side of a random highway thinking that there was nothing to the legends. Two unmarked graves, and a pissed off bride-to-be later... they change their minds._

Third Church

"Honestly Dean," Sam laughed, "You're serious? This is-- something that a bunch of teens looking for a cheep thrill would do."

"Haunted is haunted Sammy," Dean shrugged; immediately getting a glare for his word choice, "And this place is supposedly haunted."

"It's a church," Sam reminded, "Churches are hallowed ground, and the odds of having a haunted church is so slim, that _Dad_ only found one, and has found only three documented. Most of these things are just peoples imaginations."

Dean got out of the Impala, and started to list off of his fingers, "The place is abandoned, it's in the middle of a dark dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and there's unmarked graves outside it. It's got all the landmarks of a potentially haunted place."

"Alright," Sam shook his head, highly amused at his brother's enthusiasm.

They had been without a gig for nearly two weeks, and the younger brother knew that Dean was looking for anything at that moment. He also got the first clue that Dean wasn't taking this place seriously when all he grabbed out of the trunk was two flashlights, and the EMF meter. Dean in the lead, they opened up the five foot tall chained gate; flashlights panning out in front of them as they looked around.

The church was small, and white in color-- though much of the paint had peeled off with the weather. Two large double doors sat at the front, and from their position, the brothers could see the beginning of a row of graves to the left hand side.

"C'mon," Dean spoke, excitement in his voice as he moved to the left of the church.

"Do you know anything about this place Dean?" Sam asked as he followed.

Dean shrugged, spinning to give a grin to Sam, "Other than the locals say it's haunted? Nope."

Sam rolled his eyes as they got to the side of the church; a neat row of five graves was lined along the chain-link fence which circled the property. Suddenly their flashlights became useless as the once cloud covered full moon now shone brightly onto them; splashing the side of the church wall, and the old stone graves in a pale light.

"Freaky," Dean commented, bending down to one of the graves.

Sam felt a cold feeling starting to form in his stomach, but quickly chalked it up to their being on the road for eighteen hours that day, and the ignorance they held for the place.

"Sam, check it out," Dean motioned for his brother to look at the grave.

Sam bent down and inspected it, "Weird-- it just says the year; 1895- 1923, but no name." he glanced in the light at the other four, "the other one beside it is the same. Just the years and no name."

"Could be people that they didn't know the name of," Dean suggested as he looked around some more, "Maybe they buried them here."

"How would they know when they were born then if they didn't even know the name if the people?" Sam asked as he gazed up at the tall stained-glass windows which were surprisingly still intact.

Dean had no answer, but instead headed back to the front again, "I don't know, but lets look inside."

Sam met his brother at the front of the church, where only a single, small latch held the large doors closed. The metal latch slid open easily, and Dean pushed at the door.

Nothing.

Again Dean shoved his shoulder firmly against the church opening, but it wouldn't budge.

"Ha, see," Sam smiled, "_Something_ doesn't want us going in. Lets just--"

Before the sentence could be finished, a loud, whining creak echoed in the air, and both brothers looked over as the door slowly opened up without either of them having touched it. Wordlessly Sam and Dean watched.

"You were saying Sammy…" Dean spoke quietly, pulling out the EMF meter, and turning it on.

The meter stayed quietly, and Dean took a step into the church. Reluctantly Sam followed behind and they entered into a small, dark lobby. The two doors leading into the main area of the church were slightly ajar, and a small beacon of light shot out.

"Ever considered taking the history of a place before coming to it Dean?" Sam asked as they opened up the doors and walked in.

"What happened to spirits not haunting hallowed ground Sam?" Dean asked, sweeping the meter around as he looked around the inside.

The walls on both the left and right side were covered with the ceiling high windows, and the moonlight struck impressively through the left side, causing them to abandon the flashlights for good into their pockets. Dark wooden pews lined both the right and left side, and at the end stood an old looking alter. A door sat leading into a room on both the right side and the left side at the end of the isle beside the alter which sat on the hand laid wooden floor currently covered with dust.

"This is like a cheep horror movie," Sam mentioned as they made their way slowly down the center isle.

Dean laughed and stopped a few feet in-- his little brother mimicking the lack of movement. Before any words could be spoken by either of them, a loud crack from the pews to the left caused both brothers to jump.

"Damn," Dean felt his heart pound as he pivoted towards the direction the sound came from, the EMF meter making a sudden, loud screeching sound.

Sam whipped out his flashlight and shot it over, but before he could see anything, the EMF meter died down, and silence enveloped them again.

"Alright," Dean cleared his throat, "So apparently there _is_ something here."

"Yeah," Sam motioned his head towards the doors at the end of the room, "Lets check out those."

Dean nodded and began to walk again down the softly creaking floor. Swiftly Dean moved around the front of the pews to the left side and walked to the door.

"Ready?" Dean asked, placing his hand around the handle.

"You're not packing, are you?" Sam frowned, his flashlight still clutched in hand.

"No," Dean grinned. "I wasn't exactly thinking this place had much credibility to it. Like you said, most of these things are just peoples imaginations."

Sam swallowed, "Just open the door."

Taking a breath in, Dean turned the handle and quickly pushed opened up the door, "Are there any ghosts inside?"

Sam laughed, shinning the light in the windowless room, "No, it's just a storage room I think."

Dean moved around and looked inside; an old pew sat vertically inside, along with about half a dozen chairs and a few boxes of things. The EMF meter remained quiet in Dean's hand, and after a moment he was convinced that there was nothing supernatural about the room.

"Other side?" Dean suggested.

Sam nodded, and the brothers walked to the right hand door. Again Sam stood poised with the flashlight in his hand, and Dean grasped the door handle. With a small, confirmative nod from Sam, Dean turned the handle and pushed at the door. The top of the door budged, reviling a crack to open, but something was catching on the bottom of the door, firmly keeping it shut.

"What the hell," Dean muttered, hitting at the door once more.

Again the top of the door opened ajar, but the bottom remained shut. Dean continued to slam into the solid wooden object, and the same thing continued to happen. As Sam watched he saw through the crack at the top a shadow shoot by.

"Screw it," Dean panted out, "This thing isn't opened unless I go at it with the axe or something."

"Dean try again," Sam's voice was quiet, "I saw a shadow go by inside the room when you were pushing it."

Dean stared at Sam a moment before going back to the door. He turned the handle and slammed into it with his shoulder, letting out a small yelp in pain as the door remained motionless.

"Sam, the damn thing isn't moving," Dean groaned out, grabbing his shoulder in pain.

"Try kicking the bottom of the door," Sam suggested, "Maybe that will get it loose or something."

"Yeah, because my foot is so much stronger than my whole upper body," Dean rolled his eyes, but went back to the door anyways.

Again, he turned the handle, but this time, gave a light, sarcastic hit with his boot clad foot. Almost immediately the door shot open, crashing with unbelievable force, sending an echoing smash against the inside of the room wall.

"Damn it!" Sam shouted out in shock, one hand moving to cover his mouth, his eyes wide.

Dean, as well, cussed loudly as the EMF meter in his hand went off again, and began to flash a bright, ominous red. It took a moment for the brothers to catch their breath as the noise from the meter continued to screech out, and it was then that Dean noticed the door had started to close again, and would have done so if his body wasn't standing in the frame of the room.

"Sammy," Dean glanced at Sam, "You ok?"

"Perfect," Sam breathed out, moving towards the room.

He shined his flashlight inside, and saw a single chair sitting in the center of the windowless room.

"Dean," Sam's quiet voice was barely heard over the meter, "There's no light or anything to cause the shadow I saw in there."

"I know," Dean agreed, looking into the less than comforting looking room, the whole time, the door trying to close in on itself "Come on, I think we should get out of here."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but took a step into the room anyways, "I just don't get it Dean-- why would there just be a chair inside? I mean, it doesn't--"

Dean's foot which had been keep the door securely open, suddenly shot away, causing him to fall backwards, and the door slam shut again.

With Sam inside.

"Sam!" Dean screamed out, a cold air washing through the place, "_Sam!!_"

The older brother banged hard on the door, but he heard nothing but the meter in his hand, and his own heart furiously pounding. Dean then tried to open the door again, but it wouldn't even budge.

"Arggg," Dean pushed with all his might, giving a hard kick to the bottom for good measure, "_Sammy!!_"

Again no answer came back, and Dean hesitated a moment before running towards the exit of the church. Bounding out of the doors, the EMF meter was shoved into his pocket-- quiet at last, and silence enveloped Dean.

"Damn it," Dean muttered as he popped open his trunk, "Why the hell did I bring him here?"

It was rhetorical question at best, and it took only a few seconds for Dean to grab his sturdy axe, and a shot gun filled with rock salt. He barely took the time to slam back down the trunk before running back into the house; thankful that no more doors had closed on him, refusing to open. As he got to the end of the isle to in front of the alter, Dean slowed his pace. Everything remained quiet, including the EMF meter which was still turned in the on position in his pocket.

"Sam?" Dean called out quietly, and tentatively as he moved towards the closed door, "Sammy…"

With a shaking hand, Dean touched the door, his breath catching in his throat as slowly and carefully it opened up with the same slow high pitched sound that the front doors had made. Dean put down the axe, and fumbled in his pocket for his flashlight, turning it on and taking a step into the door frame.

"Sam…" Dean panned the light around, it finally landing in the center of the room where the chair was.

Sam now sat on it.

"Dean?" Sam's voice choked out carefully.

Adrenaline still pumped viciously through Dean, "Sammy, are you alright?"

Sam remained silent.

"Come here," Dean reached out his arm towards his little brother; not wanting to move from his position in front of the door.

Sam remained motionless.

"Sammy, come on," Dean started to take a reluctant step in.

"Dean, don't come in," Sam's voice was quiet and scared, causing Dean to stop in his tracks.

Dean shone the flashlight onto Sam who had a trickle of blood coming down the side of his head, "Sam what's wrong? What's going on?"

"Don't come in," Sam's voice quivered out as he repeated the sentence, "It's a trap."

"What's a trap?" Dean looked around the room, but still saw nothing.

"She's here," Sam swallowed hard, "Dean you can't come in, or she'll take you too."

"Sam what are you talking about?" Dean's voice cracked with emotions, "I gotta get you outta here-- just grab my hand. C'mon…"

The image of a woman in a flowing white wedding dress suddenly appeared in front of Sam, running her hand threateningly across his cheek.

"Come on in Dean," her voice was icy and threatening, "Join the fun."

Dean immediately had his gun up and pointed at her, "Let him go."

A sharp nail on her pointer finger sliced across Sam's face, "I don't think so. You try shooting your gun… it will hit him before it ever hits me."

Dean swallowed hard, eying Sam, who had his eyes closed, "What do you want?"

The lady in white flickered, suddenly appearing on the other side of Sam, "My husband."

"Listen lady," Dean's breath came out jagged, "I don't know who your husband is-- but it's not Sam."

Again the bride flashed away, and appeared directly in front of Sam, running her hand through his blood soaked hair, "But he'll do."

"_No!_" Dean shouted out, the door slamming hard onto his shoulder, "No, just-- please. Let-let me help you. Don't hurt Sam."

Dean was frightened of what the thing was capable of doing, but was even more worried about the fact that Sam still had his eyes closed. The lady continued to stand inches from Sam, wiping her hands seductively across his face, and arms.

"My husband," she laughed quietly, bending down to lick the blood from Sam's cheek; causing Dean to tense, and clutch the gun tighter, "He was supposed to come here; to wed me. He was supposed to come," three slice marks made their way across Sam's t-shirt suddenly from her hand, causing blood to quickly stain the blue cotton, "But he didn't-- he didn't show. So…"

Her voice trailed off, leading Dean to finish the sentence, "…so you killed yourself, didn't you?"

"It was the only way," the bride appeared behind Sam and jerked his head back from his hair.

"_Hey!_" Dean had enough of the torture of his brother, "Leave him alone!"

"It was this room you know," she continued on like nothing had been said, "Right in this room. He didn't love me, so I couldn't live…"

"That has _nothing_ to do with Sam," Dean wished dearly she would move away from him.

A long silver bladed knife appeared in her hand as suddenly the woeful bride stood behind Sam threateningly, "It does now. I'm going to make sure no one leaves me again."

"_No!_" Dean cried out.

The older brother was just about to go into the room in a vane attempt to stop the ghost when a cold wind shot through. A white mist was carried in, and Dean stared as it made a magical dance and whisper in front of both Sam and the woman.

"_Kara…_" a whisper of a male voice echoed in the room, "_Kara… let him go._"

Dean's heart pounded and the woman who he knew now as Kara spoke, "L-Leslie?… Leslie is that you?"

The white mist swirled and a man with shoulder length brown, wavy hair took form in front of Sam. He wore a loose fitting white top and beige pants with brown suede boots.

The man stood smiling and spoke again, "It's me Kara."

"Leslie, you left me," the knife was still clutched in Kara's hand, thought thankfully wasn't near Sam's throat anymore, "We-we were to be wed. You were to be my husband"

"There was an accident Kara," Leslie explained, "On my way to this very church my horse-- she lost her footing near the river bend."

Kara studied him a moment, taking in the words, "So… you did not leave me for another woman?"

"You are the only woman for me Kara," Leslie's voice was soft, "I died on the way to our wedding, though I have not forgotten you. And we will always be together. But you have to let this man go."

"I-I… no," Kara breathed deeply, "No… we can never be together now. It is too late."

"But we are," insisted Leslie, "We always have been. The graves beside the church…"

Dean instinctively turned his head to the side of the church where the graves sat, and everything suddenly began to make sense.

"Two of the graves," Leslie went on, "They are ours. They buried us together… so we will always be together."

"There are no names," Kara stated stubbornly, "How am I to know the words you speak are true?"

Leslie laughed quietly, "I would not lie to you my Love. The stones remain nameless for we could not be wed, and so held no names. But you have to come with me now Kara. You must leave these people be, and I promise… we will be together for a lifetime and more."

Kara stared down at Sam, who though still had his eyes closed, was breathing heavy.

"Kara--" Leslie reached out a hand, "Come my Love."

Kara stepped around Sam, and, hesitant at first, reached her hand out to her lost husband to be. Dean watched, shotgun still clutched in hand, as the two spirits hands met. A bright light flashed through the room followed by a sudden cold breeze.

And then nothing but darkness.

"S-Sammy…" Dean called out, fear in his voice as he shone his flashlight at his little brother.

Sam's eyes finally opened, and he looked over at Dean, who still didn't want to leave the frame of the door. With a trembling hand, Sam felt his chest, where blood still oozed out slowly and painfully.

"Sammy," Dean put down the shotgun and reached out his hand again, "Grab my hand man."

This time Sam did move as he stood up and grabbed his older brother's hand. With the leverage of the doorframe, Dean pulled Sam out into the main church area. Both Winchester's stood there as slowly the door closed again and silence once more filled their world.

Dean breathed hard, and, in the light of the moon, looked at Sam, "Hey Sam," Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, "You with me?"

Sam cleared his throat and nodded, "Yeah."

Dean used his thumb to wipe away a stream of blood which came down his little brothers face, "Are you ok?"

"I think so," Sam confirmed.

Dean patted his shoulder affectionately before moving over to grab the gun, "I'm really sorry Sammy."

"Why?" Sam asked, his left arm covering his hurt chest.

"For dragging you in here," Dean spoke quietly as they made their way back towards the front of the church, "For… not stopping you from getting hurt."

"It wasn't your fault," Sam grinned.

The two got outside just as the moon was covered again by a random cloud. Dean put the latch back on the door and started back towards the Impala.

"I would do anything to have made it me sitting in that room, and not you," Dean's voice was sincere and apologetic, "You know that, right?"

Again Sam flashed a smile at his brother, "I know. But there was nothing you could have done… she had good taste."

The End.


	53. Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight

_Disclaimer: Did you know that the only word that is formed when you put the alphabet together in order is the word no? _

A/N: Holy smokes, it's only now cluing in to me how much I fricken write... this is my fifty-third story! 5-3! That's rediculous man! Haha... but I'm glad you're enjoying them! Today's one shot is another drabble. Though not a challenge one, it was just one that I wrote up today that ended up being a drabble because I didn't want to make it too long (it would have spoiled it). I'm not going to say much about it, because it's kinda of self explainitory, but please, do enjoy!

* * *

Title: Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight  
Genre: bitter-sweet...  
Summary: Dean's four and a half... and his Mom tucks him in for the last time...

Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight

"Mommy?" the voice was small and quiet, "…Mommy?"

Mary smiled and turned from her position on the couch to see the stairs. Four and a half year old Dean stood, his head peaking above the banister at his parents. John, too, glanced over to see his oldest boy taking up stance.

"Dean," John spoke up, "Didn't I put you to bed half an hour ago?"

"Uh huh."

"Then why are you up Buddy?" John questioned.

"Mommy didn't say g'night," Dean responded simply as he took another slow step down.

John looked over at Mary with a smile on his face, "Do you want me to put him back in bed?"

Mary shook her head, "No, I got him," she kissed John on the cheek, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mary got up and walked to Dean on the step, taking his hand in hers.

"Goodnight Dean!" John called from the couch.

"'Night Daddy!"

Mary lead Dean back into his room, and turned on the small bedside lamp. With a triumphant grin, Dean leapt into his bed and grabbed a stuffed animal from beside him.

"Are you sleepy?" Mary asked sitting beside her son.

Dean shook his head, "Nope. Can you read me a story?"

"Ok," Mary agreed, "Once upon a time there was a little boy who went straight to sleep when he was supposed to…"

"Mommy!" Dean cried out loudly.

"Shh," Mary laughed, "You don't want to wake Sammy." she paused, "Ok, if I read you _one_ story, will you go to sleep?"

Dean nodded.

Mary walked over to a small bookshelf and grabbed a book. It was from the series of Mercer Mayer books that both John and Mary loved to read the boys as they were quick reads and would satisfy Dean's needs for a tale.

"How does this look?" Mary showed him the cover with a small critter on it.

"Yeah!" Dean snuggled into the blanket some more.

Mary smiled and laid down beside Dean on his bed. The youngster curled up into his Mom as she read every page of the story which both Winchester's had memorized by that point. It was halfway through the story that Mary noticed Dean's breathing going into a relaxed rate, and his eyes closing to his mother's soft voice. Mary knew she could sneak away now without him noticing, but decided to finish the story anyways before creeping off the bed.

"Goodnight Sweetheart," Mary leaned down and kissed Dean's soft forehead as she pulled his blanket up, "And remember… the angels are always watching over you."

Quietly Mary turned off the light and left the room; Dean's partially conscious mind opening his eyes briefly at the movement before falling back into a peaceful slumber. It would be just a few short hours later that Dean would be awoken from his Dad's shouts and Sammy's cry. Just a few short hours later that Dean would carry his baby brother out of the burning house and to the safety of the front yard. Just a few short hours until Dean Winchester was forced to grow up into a world with demons and monsters; into a world where a boy could feel the pain of a lifetime before he was five.

-§-

"_I'll tell you who else had faith like that. Mom. She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me._"

The End.


	54. Angst Break!

_Disclaimer: So there's 319 n's and 335 o's in this story... so I guess subliminally I've said 'no' 319.16 times..._

_A/N: Howdy doodle peoples! It's 1:15 in the morning and I still gotta memorize something for theatre tomorrow morning, so I'm going to make this quick... today's one shot is one of my few attempts at humor. And you'll see why very quickly... it's my vane attempt at making you all smile, or possibly, if I'm lucky, laugh. It's also a long ago request fic of Dean getting rejected. One last added note-- this one shot is dedicated to one of my best friends; Karlea (haha.. yeah, it's her name in here, but I wrote it the way it's actually pronounced). She was encouraging me and laughing at this story the whole time... and she's never seen an episode of Supernatural... Anyways... I got some memorizing to do, and you all got some reading to do-- enjoy!! _

* * *

_Title: Angst Break!  
Genre: my immensely horribly written humor...  
Summary: Dean bets Sam twenty dollars that he can get the number of any person in the bar..._

Angst Break!

"Five bucks."

"Twenty."

"Ten."

"Fifteen?"

"Deal," Sam laughed as he leaned back in the bar stool, stretching his long arms up into the air in an exaggerated stretch.

"Dude, do you doubt my abilities so much, that you're willing to bet me fifteen dollars?" Dean questioned between two large swigs of his beer.

"No, I doubt your abilities so much that I was willing to bet five dollars," Sam corrected, "_You_ were the one who insisted on fifteen."

"Fine--" Dean finished off his beer and placed it forcefully on the counter behind his brother, "Point out any woman in this bar Sam, and I _guarantee_ that I'll be able to get her number," the elder pulled a crumpled twenty from his pocket, "Twenty bucks says so."

"I said fifteen," Sam's significant sobriety over his brother was evident.

"And I said twenty," Dean paused, "And I'm older, so that means we have to listen to me."

Sam grinned and snatched the twenty out of Dean's hand, "Alright hot-shot," he pointed to a lady standing near the dance floor; her curly auburn hair flowing down halfway her back, "That girl there."

Dean returned a drunken smile, "Watch me."

"Oh I'll watch all right," Sam smirked to himself as he watched his brother stumble off across the floor.

Sam slid off the stool and followed Dean closely behind; eager to not only hold the twenty that sat in his hand, but also to see his almighty big brother make an ass out of himself. Something the eldest Winchester did often, though rarely in public.

"Hi," Dean flashed his charming smile as the woman with the long hair turned around, "Name's Dean."

"No, actually, my name is Karlee," the lady smiled slyly.

Dean chuckled, "Right. So… Karlee… you come here often?"

Sam covered his mouth to stop the laughter coming through; this was going to be far more entertaining than he could have ever hoped for.

Karlee eyed Dean a long moment, "Not anymore."

"Ouch," Dean faked hurt, "How 'bout I buy you a drink-- see if we can change your mind at all?"

"Sure," Karlee's attitude dramatically changed as she hooked her arm around Dean's, "Dean, did you say your name was?"

"That's right," Dean leaned over and seductively kissed her neck as they reached the bar; Sam following a slow distance behind, "So, what do you drink?"

"I have very expensive tastes," was all Karlee replied.

Two drinks and over fifteen dollars later, Dean stared charmingly at the lady beside him. Or with what he thought was charm. Sam had to turn away as his own drink spurted out of his mouth with laughter. Wishing dearly he had a camera on him, Sam turned back to the scene just in time to hear Dean try one of his more famous lines out.

"So Karlee," Dean raised one eyebrow, "I'm actually here from a small production company, and am trying to find some woman that are just perfect for a part…"

"Oh?" Karlee took a sip from her drink, "And what kind of part would that be?"

Dean did a quick scan up and down Karlee's body, "Well we can start with your eyes, and then work our way down to--"

"How about," Karlee quickly interrupted as she placed a single finger on Dean's lips, "you buy me another drink first?"

"Any chance your taste has… cheapened?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Only if yours has."

Again Dean bought another expensive drink, though this time caught a glance of Sam who gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Not only was Dean's own alcohol starting to kick in even more, but the room seemed insistent on continual movement even after Dean put down his bottle. On this note, Dean realized he should hurry with the bet before he forgot what it was.

"So," tact was slowing as fast as Dean's speech, "Do you have a number I can reach you at Karlee?"

Karlee studied Dean a moment, "A number?"

Dean took another swig of his beer, "Yeah. You know-- for the phone."

"Oh," Karlee smirked, "Right. I'll be right back."

"Sure thing," Dean leaned in for another tasteful kiss, but quickly found himself nearly falling flat on his face as Karlee moved from her seat.

Sam made quick movement to catch Dean before he did take the header, "You ok?"

Dean grinned, "Perfect. I have her just where I want her."

Sam forced back a laugh, "On the other side of the bar?"

Dean glanced back to where Karlee was talking with the bartender, "She'll come back."

"Alright hot-shot," Sam helped Dean to sit more securely in his chair, "Just make sure you stay away from the kissing at this point because you're breath is horrible."

Dean crinkled his forehead, "It is?"

Sam smiled and clapped Dean on the shoulder before moving back to his seat, "Yup."

Just as the drunken Winchester claimed, Karlee came back to her spot beside Dean and sat down. She smiled widely before taking a sip of her drink.

"Welcome back," Dean smiled.

"Miss me?" Karlee winked.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but paused slightly before doing so, "No… not really. I could see you the whole time."

Karlee bit back a retort, "So… you said you were a producer?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "But I'm going to need to get your number…" he forced a drunken smile, "For callbacks."

"Ok," Karlee nodded as she leaned in close to Dean's ear and whispered, "But how about another drink first?"

Dean raised his hand to the bartender who brought over another expensive drink and placed it in front of the increasingly beautiful woman. Ready for his triumphant win, Dean took another large gulp of his beer to finish it off, and placed it on the counter.

"So," there was no hiding his inebriation, "How about that number?"

A large grin came to Karlee's face as she lifted a phone book up from her lap and plopped it in front of Dean, "Here you go hot-shot. It's in there I _swear_… just keep looking."

Dean stared dumbfounded at the thick book as Karlee smugly got up from the seat. With a spin of the heel and a smile on her face, Karlee walked over to where Sam was sitting a few seats away.

"Thanks Karlee," Sam grinned and held up the twenty dollar bill.

Karlee took the bill and spoke before walking to join her friends back on the dance floor, "Any time Sam."

The End.


	55. I Killed a Mockingbird

_Disclaimer: For the love of God no! _

A/N: Humm... yeah, I got nothing cool to say this time. So I'll go right into explaining tonights oneshot... I was having a bad day yesterday (today was a GREAT day though!), and so to let it out, I wrote this one shot. It **is not** a death fic, but is really not a happy one either. I don't suspect many people will like it, but I'll give it out to you anyways. Enjoy!

* * *

Title: I Killed a Mockingbird  
Genre: back to my angst!  
Summary: Dean is forced to kill... and is having a hard time dealing with it.

I Killed a Mockingbird

_"No! No Sam, no!" Dean's scream could have been heard halfway down the block, but it was just meant to be heard across the room. _

"Dean!" Sam's equally loud response came as one word.

Dean squeezed the handle of his gun as he pointed it towards the middle of the dark room. Moonlight splashed through a broken window, sending glimpses of the scene into view. But it wasn't enough. There was three things that Dean knew were in the room with him; a powerful echo demon, a seventeen year old girl, and Sam.

Only one would live to see the sun rise. 

-§-

Dean sat on the soft bed and stared down at his hands. There was still blood on them; stained into his skin as a sick reminder of how the night went. He cringed at the thought of whose blood it was, and paused to think if perhaps there was his own on there; that maybe he was injured.

Dean quickly found he didn't care.

"Hey," a voice jostled Dean out of his brooding, "You ok?"

Dean looked up; a twinge of a smile on his face as Sam took up residence on the bed across from him. His little brother had just finished his shower and now wore nothing but sleeping pants; revealing his cut up torso.

"I'm fine Sammy," Dean cleared his throat, "How about you?"

Sam reached for some bandages that he'd left on the end table, "I'll be alright," he saw Dean stare back down at his hands, "Why don't you go take a shower? Clean up."

Dean stared as Sam worked on patching himself up, "But--"

"I'm _fine_," Sam insisted, "Go."

Dean numbly nodded his head, and stripped off his outer shirt as he walked to the bathroom. Turning on the water as hot as he could bear, Dean stripped, stepped underneath, and let the water run down his back. Turning the water even hotter, Dean stayed until his skin started to turn pink and tears of both physical and emotional pain filled up inside him.

"Dean!" a pound came at the door, "You alright?"

"Yeah!" Dean called back out.

The older brother turned off the water and stepped fully into the steam filled bathroom. He realized quickly why Sam usually left his clothes on the bed when he took a shower as Dean dried off and put on his damp pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Finally he emerged into the significantly cooler living area of the hotel, and noted with relief that Sam had covered all the major wounds he'd accumulated.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "You were in there for like half an hour."

"Sorry," Dean grabbed a bottle of water and took back residence on the bed.

Sam sighed and sat down opposite, "Dude, what's wrong?"

Dean washed his hand over his face before whispering, "… I killed her."

Sam paused; that's what he thought was wrong. Indeed only one person made it through the scuffle inside the abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. It was also a fact that Dean had been responsible for getting rid of the other two things.

"Don't Dean," Sam shook his head, "Don't do that to yourself-- you did what you had to do."

"I didn't have to shoot her Sam," Dean made eye contact with his brother, and Sam saw the hurt and pain swimming in his eyes.

"Dean," Sam swallowed hard, "That demon was going to kill me. The only way to stop it, was to stop her."

"She was just a kid," Dean mumbled out, wishing he had something stronger than water in his hand.

"A kid who was controlling a demon who had already killed four people, and was gunning for a fifth," Sam reminded, "Dean… you know as well as I do that this job is dangerous. Both for us, _and_ them."

"Those kind of demons take over a persons mind," Dean ignored what Sam told him, "Once they start toying with the demon, they can't control it anymore. That girl had no idea what the hell she was doing."

"But you did," Sam placed a hand on Dean's arm, "Dean… you saved me. I would have done the same thing for you."

Dean got up and paced to the other side of the room before turning around, "That's the problem Sam. How many innocent people are we killing just to save each other? I mean… we're not so innocent ourselves."

"How many innocent people are we _saving_ by what we do?" Sam countered back getting to his own feet, "Dean, that girl may not have been knowing what she was doing-- hell, for all we know, she was trying to stop it, but the fact of the matter is that she couldn't. She was killing people, and she needed to be stopped. I know it sucks man, but it had to be done."

"You're right it sucks!" Dean shot out, "This whole fricken system of killing evil sucks. I mean, Mom died to save you," Sam cringed at this, but Dean went on, "Dad died to save me, I'm--" Dean's voice caught in his throat, "I'm going to die to save you. This war is going to end, and there'll be nobody left to win!"

"There will be," Sam insisted firmly, "Those people that would have died from the demon tonight will still live. All those people we've saved will still live. There's just sacrifices to be made Dean, and choices we have to make."

Dean sat back on the bed and spoke softly, "She shouldn't of had to die Sam."

Sam swallowed hard and sat back on his own bed, giving Dean a sympathetic look. The younger brother had no idea what to say; sometimes to save the world… you have to kill a mockingbird.

The End.


	56. Drabble, Drabble, Drabble

_Disclaimer: I bet I can make a disclaimer without the word **no** in it... aww crap. _

A/N: Well, I was gonna take a week off from posting so that I could get some better stories for ya all to read (as I'm sure you could tell my last few were kindda lacking in the coolness factor). But the other night my good buddy Windy Fontaine and I had a drabble-off. Haha... we sat there over the course of a couple of hours and made up challenges for us to write a drabble... each of us doing three. Her's I noticed, are posted on her profile, and with a small amount of begging I've decided to post mine. Haha, so here for your entertainment are three drabbles that entertained a bored writer the other night. Enjoy! (ps. go check out Windy Fontaine's version of the same challenge drabbles)

* * *

Title: Drabble, Drabble, Drabble  
Genre: umm... for the most part they're just a little angsty, and some humor  
Summary: They're all grown up in the three of them, and all basically have no plot as they're only a couple of hundred words each. Haha... have fun!

Drabble, Drabble, Drabble

_first challenge: word count: 100, had to have the sentence: You owe me fifty dollars._

_Bet You Fifty_

"I bet you fifty dollars that I can jump higher than you," Dean grinned as they scoured the abandoned warehouse.

"Are you five?" Sam laughed, turning towards his brother; shotgun in hand.

Dean grinned, "Dude we've been searching this place for hours. I need entertainment."

Suddenly a loud bang erupted from behind, followed by a scream from Dean. Instantly Dean flew across the room and landed with a thump on the ground. Sam shot the demon which had finally showed itself, and turned towards Dean.

"Dean!"

"Sam," Dean groaned, "You _so_ owe me fifty dollars."

The End.

-§-

_second challenge: word count: 250, had to have the sentence: Yeah, well don't dream of cute furry little bunnies. _

_Dream Away Dean_

Dean couldn't stop the gasp that came out of his mouth as he sat bolt up in his bed. Beads of sweat covered his forehead, and his eyes were wide as he stared around the dark room. Moments later the light turned on between the beds, and Dean looked over to see a tired looking Sam.

"Dean?" Sam squinted in the light, "You alright?"

Dean breathed deep, "Yeah."

Sam sat up in his bed, "What's wrong?"

Dean sighed and muttered out, "Bad dream."

This got Sam's attention.

"Like… bad dream as in _my_ bad dreams, or bad dream as in Oscar the Grouch chasing after you?" Sam inquired.

"Dude he's in a can… he can't chase people," Dean smirked.

Sam smiled, knowing then the answer to his question, "What was it about?"

Dean shook his head as he grabbed some water.

Again Sam knew the answer to this, "Was it that one you used to have as a kid where you're flying in a plane and then the pilot suddenly--"

"Shut up Sam," Dean interrupted flatly drinking all his water.

Sam laughed, "You just gotta think of something happy before going to sleep. You'll be fine."

"Thanks Mom," Dean lay back down on the bed.

"Think of something that'll beat the crap out of Oscar," Sam continued to tease.

Dean flicked off the light, "Goodnight Sam."

"Yeah, well don't dream of cute furry little bunnies," Sam spoke in the dark, "I hear Oscar made allies."

The End.

-§-

_second challenge: word count: 500 , had to have the sentence: Dude you better be alright, or I'm going to kill you._

_Don't Hang Up_

"Don't you _dare_ hang up Sam!" Dean shouted into his phone.

"That's a little easier said than done," Sam's voice crackled over followed by a loud smash, "_Son of a bitch!_"

"Sam…" Dean followed along the outside of the old barn, looking for any way in.

There was no answer.

"Sam!" Dean shouted loudly, "Damn it answer me!"

The only thing that answered his frantic call out was a dial tone and Dean numbly hung up.

"Dude you better be alright, or I'm going to kill you," Dean whispered out as he tried dialing his brother's number.

No answer.

Dean cussed at himself for bringing his little brother on the hunt. Not that either Winchester could have seen how it would turn-- the thought to be simple job turned into one of the most dangerous jobs in months. It was only supposed to be a spirit of a farmer who died on his farm and continued to cause trouble by locking kids in the abandoned barns and shacks. What Dean hadn't figured out until recently was that the farmer had killed five people; burying them in the barn. And when Sam walked in, it was those five spirits that decided to make an example of the Winchester.

"C'mon Sam, answer your phone damn it," Dean cussed as he tried his brother's number again.

"Yeah…" Sam's panting voice came through.

"Thank God," Dean muttered before speaking normally, "Sam what the hell happened?"

"One of them caught me," Sam's voice was laced with pain, "But I think I found where the farmer is buried in here. Maybe if I can get his bones burnt the other spirits will leave."

"Be careful," Dean tried again in vane to open the main doors to the barn, "And if you hang up this phone again I swear to God I'll kick your ass."

Sam smiled to himself as he avoided a flying bail of hay. He loved his brother, but hated how overprotective he was when it came to Sam's safety. There was no possible way for Dean to make sure Sam never got hurt, and he always took it to heart when he was. As a drip of blood fell from his forehead, Sam realized that this time wasn't going to be any different. Two flying shovels and another hay bail later, Sam finally got the bones of the farmer burnt.

"Ok Dean," Sam breathed, "I think we're good. I'm going to hang up now."

"Sam…"

Smirking, Sam hung up the phone just as the door to the barn creaked open. Cautiously Dean stepped through, clutching his gun. The moonlight swept through the broken roof, and Sam grinned.

"Sammy," Dean swallowed walking over as he took in the surroundings, "Are you ok?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I'm alright."

Dean frowned at Sam's visible injuries, "What the hell did they do to you?"

"I'm _fine_," Sam insisted.

Dean looked at the closed phone and smiled, "Not after I kick your ass."

The End.


	57. The Harder They Fall

_Disclaimer: another day, another no_

_A/N: Howdy folks! It's been a bit, I know, but I was trying to get a bit of a back-up of stories. It didn't work too well... I finished the story I'm posting tonight about three days ago, and then I've started about half a dozen other stories. Haha... which I should finish up soon. Anyways, the only reason I'm posting this story is because of JJ Phoenix, and the review I was given. It just made me smile, and remember once more who I was really writing for. So all thanks this time around go to JJ Phoenix!  
Ok... so before we get into todays story, I want to give a small warning. **No, not** a death fic, but this story is a really serious topic. I've seen it done quite a few times before, and some of them weren't done too well. It's hard, I realize, to do a serious topic and make it seem a- realisitc, and b- not mocking. So in conclusion, I'm kindda scared about this story, and if you all really don't like, I **can** take it off. Either way... read on faithful readers... read on... _

* * *

_Title: The Harder They Fall  
Genre: Tragedy and angst  
Summary: It seemed like any normal day at school for the 17 year old Winchester until he went to lunch and a kid with a gun decided to change everyone's life..._

The Harder They Fall

With a sigh Sam picked up his books from the desk and shoved them in his bag. It was the longest that Sam had stayed at any one high school in the past two years; a full seven months-- but this was his last day there. The youngest Winchester was seventeen, a senior at Frost High, and was happily enjoying his extended stay at a school. Finally he had made friends and started to feel normal for once when his Dad told him that it was time to pack up. Sam fought it, but John had insisted they needed to move on to a place in southern Georgia. Sam was mad to say the least; he had started the high school at almost the beginning of the year, and was hoping dearly he could graduate with his friends.

"I'm sorry Sam," John had spoke, "But we have to go."

The simple statement ended with a loud argument and fight from Sam that lasted to the current day. The youngest had refused to talk to his Dad in a meager attempt to show him how angry he was, though that did nothing but make his Dad more mad. Which in turn caused Dean to also become increasingly angry with his little brother.

"Do you really have to go after today?" Sam was jostled back to reality as his best friend Josh took up stride beside him in the hallway.

"Yeah," Sam sighed.

"That sucks," Josh spoke sadly, "I mean, I'd ask my Mom if you could stay with us until graduation, but she's still pissed about me going out drinking last weekend."

Sam grinned at the memory, "Yeah, my Dad still doesn't know about that one. Neither does Dean, but I'm thinking he'd be more proud of me."

"No kidding," Josh laughed, "Mr. 4.0 grade-point going out partying… even _I_ was impressed man."

Sam smiled as he paused in front of the cafeteria door, "You going to skip bio?"

"Sure," Josh shrugged, "I already know the anatomy of a female."

Sam rolled his eyes and opened the door. Josh's lunch period was a full half hour after Sam's, but it had become a nearly daily ritual for Josh to skip his class and join his friend for lunch. As the teens walked in, Sam weaved his way through the crowded room and to a table situated in the far right corner. Thumping his bag onto the table, Sam dug through it for his wallet. The past many mornings had played a pattern of Sam getting up and leaving the apartment before Dean or his Dad awoke, and so the youngest didn't have time to make his lunch but rather opted for buying.

"Want me to grab you something?" Sam questioned after successfully finding his wallet.

Josh stared at him in mock hurt as he sat at the table, "Do you just assume that I do not have a lunch of my own?"

Sam grinned, "What do you want?"

Josh grinned, "Just a sandwich," then called as Sam walked off towards the lineup, "That's another I owe you Sammy!"

Sam turned around and glared at the use of the word _Sammy_, and quickly got a smug look shot back from Josh. Sam was standing in line, idly thinking of a way to get back at his friend when suddenly a scream came from the far end of the cafeteria near the door. The Winchester turned around just in time to hear a single shot from a gun ring out.

"_Get down! Everyone get down!_"

Sam had no idea who yelled the order, but followed in suit with everyone else as he fell to the ground. Immediately Sam began to take in his surroundings, his hunter instincts scanning the situation. His head spinning, Sam closed his eyes and forced his breath to come out evenly. All the hunting training in the world could have never prepared him for this.

"No one is leaving! Got that?!"

Sam lifted his head up just enough to see a kid who looked no older than he was wrap a chain around the doors to the cafeteria and lock it. Turning his head, Sam then spotted Josh ducked underneath the table they were at looking terrified. Dean, during his rambunctious years at high school, had been suspended a total of three times on account of bringing a knife to school, and so Sam had decided against the approach. The only form of protection Sam had was his skills in martial arts, and he was pretty sure a bullet would beat him any day on that one.

"Now if you're all real quiet, and don't move, maybe only one of you will die!" the person turned around completely, and Sam spotted a 9mm pistol clutched in his hand.

"Mark!" another voice entered the still air, and students clamored in their positions to see someone stand up.

Sam recognized the person as his fifth period geography teacher; Mr. Edwards. Slowly, with his arms out in front of him, Mr. Edwards moved past the students, and into the open.

"Edwards," Mark laughed, "Trying to be the hero?"

"Mark, you don't want to do this," Mr. Edwards spoke slowly, "Just let everyone here go."

Mark pretended to think for a moment before a smile returned to his features, "No."

"Why are you doing this?" Mr. Edwards took a different approach.

"Why?" Mark acted as if this was an absurd question, "Why do you care _now_ why I'm doing things?"

Sam listened with interest and morbid curiosity. He'd heard recently on the news of another school shooting, and had lazily watched a special one night on it. The reporter described the shooter as a loner in school; someone who was constantly picked on and tormented in school. A kid who felt he had no one, and who was unpopular with other students. But that was the thing… Mark wasn't like that. Through his months at the school, Sam had learned names in passing-by, and knew Mark as one of the more popular kids. He was the leader of a pack of students who idolized him and wanted to be just like him.

Hopefully not in times like these.

"Why don't you just let these people go, and we'll talk about this," Mr. Edwards suggested.

"Why don't you go in the back there and have yourself a good time with tomorrow's lunch special?" Mark shot back.

Mr. Edwards took a step forward, his arm held out towards the gun, "Mark… hand me the gun."

Without warning, another shot rung out, and Mr. Edwards fell limply to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Sure… we'll start with the bullets."

"No!" Sam instinctively cried out with the other students at the image of his teacher falling.

Without thinking, Sam got up and took two large steps towards the fallen man.

"Where do you think you're going Winchester?" Mark held the gun out at Sam now.

Sam stopped in his tracks; a mixture of fear for his life, and curiosity at the fact that Mark knew who he was washing through him, "I just want to help him."

"Yeah, I doubt he'll give you an A if you save his life," Mark scoffed, "Why don't you get back where you belong."

"Please," Sam spotted Mr. Edwards stir slightly, "Just let me help him…"

When Mark didn't say anything, Sam moved the few more feet to his teacher and crouched down. Blood pooled thickly on the floor, and Sam moved back Mr. Edwards arm to reveal a bullet hole pierced right through the left side of his chest. Sam's breath caught in his throat; it was a clean shot-- he was going to bleed out in less than a minute.

"Can't save him can you?" Mark seemed amused by this fact as Sam moved back.

"Why?" anger pulsed through Sam as he wiped the blood onto his shirt.

"It's kindda simple," Mark still held the gun out towards Sam, a multitude of students now openly crying, "When I was in grade six there was a bunch of kids in grade eight that I wanted to hang out with. _But_, if I wanted to, I had to break into this old ladies home and steal something. So I did."

Sam's eyes were wide as realization struck him, "This is an initiation?"

"Bingo," Mark grinned, "A blond hair, blue eyed bitch. Edwards there was just a bonus."

"What?" Sam swallowed hard, "You… you're doing this just to get into a _club_?"

"Yeah, that must be it," Mark's face washed blank, "And there's no ass-wipes allowed, so why don't you go back with your little buddies Winchester. I'll find my bitch, and then the rest of you can remember this as the day you watched someone die."

Sam hesitated a moment as he backed up slowly, but decided against playing with the unstable man and once again returned to his place on the floor.

"Ok!" Mark turned his attention back on the room as a whole, "What blond haired chick wants to sacrifice herself and be the hero?"

Strangled sobs echoed out as people fitting the description for the person Mark had to kill hid in corners or further under tables. Almost immediately after taking another step forwards, a loud, shrill siren erupted from outside.

"Ok, so who was the smart ass who went and called them?" Mark frowned as he peered out the window at the numerous cop cars, ambulances and fire trucks now parked in the school lawn.

Sam wanted to call out that it was probably the other hundred and some-odd people in the school that called for help, but he was pretty sure he'd be dead before he got to hear any witty retort back. Added to that, Mark was now clearly getting more agitated, and looking down, he grabbed a girl up by her blond hair.

"You," Mark studied her for a moment, "You got blue eyes bitch?"

Instead of answering, the girl looked up at Mark, tears swimming in her now realized blue eyes.

"Perfect," Mark smiled again and cocked his gun.

"_No!_" the scream echoed from all the way from the other side, and Sam swung his head around; a cold feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as Josh stood to his feet.

"You want to die too?" Mark pointed his gun towards Josh now.

"Not Erin!" Josh called out, his arms stretched out feebly, "Please!"

"Josh no!" Sam hissed out, immediately recognizing the blond girl as Josh's girlfriend, "Get down!"

"No," Josh had tears crawling down his face, "No… not Erin."

Sam slowly crept towards where Mark was, unnoticed by the fixed gunman. If he could just make it close enough, Sam had decided he'd try and get the gun away. There was no way the Winchester was going to let any more people die.

"Josh…" Erin's strangled sob came from her mouth as Mark continued his death grip on her scalp.

"Oh Josh," Mark mocked, "Save me… won't you save me Josh."

"Leave her alone," Josh breathed out, "Just-just take me."

"No Josh!" both Sam and Erin yelled at the same time.

"Well the votes are in on that one," Mark grinned widely, and pulled the trigger; Josh's scream of pain echoing almost louder than the gun as he fell to the ground.

Screams and cries deafened anyone in the area, and Sam took the momentary shocked look from Mark as a sign to make his move. With his trained speed, Sam got up and bolted over to the teen; tackling him away from Erin and onto the floor. A solid punch landed to the side of Mark's face as Sam grabbed the gun from his hand.

"You're going to die Winchester!" Mark cried out, struggling against Sam's strong grip.

"_No one_ else is going to die," Sam hissed out, and landed another punch square in the jaw of the chaos maker.

Dean had been making fun of Sam incessantly for the past many months over his recent growth spurt, though it now came in handy as Sam straddled overtop of Mark while using his hands to quickly open the gun and take out the remaining bullets. Almost immediately after doing so a loud blast came from the doors which instantly knocked inwards with a loud bang. A dozen men with vests reading SWAT on it came barging into the room of terrified people followed by medics and police officers.

"Everyone hold still!" one of the SWAT members call out.

"Over here!" Erin was the one who directed the SWAT over to Sam and Mark.

Sam got off of Mark as one of the men took hold of the former gunman. Quickly Sam handed the empty gun to the SWAT team member, mumbling a quick explanation before he took off towards where Josh lay on the ground with a medic.

"Josh," Sam breathed, "…Josh, how are you buddy?"

Josh looked up from his position on the floor; his eyes glassed over with pain, "Sammy…"

"He'll be ok," the paramedic put in with a smile, "The bullet caught his shoulder, but didn't seem to hit any major arteries."

"That's great," Sam looked back down at his friend, "Hear that Josh? You'll be back to bumming food off of people in no time."

Josh smiled weakly and clasped his hand around Sam's, squeezing lightly, "I guess… that's another one… I owe you Sammy."

Sam smiled back and watched as the paramedics lifted him onto a gurney and lead him out of the cafeteria. Only as this happened did Sam notice that people were being evacuated out of the place, and a sudden longing to see his family enveloped Sam. Grabbing his bag from the table he stood by, Sam joined the swarm of people leaving the high school that Sam was suddenly glad he was never going to see again.

Once out into the parking lot in front of the school, Sam saw just how crowded things were outside of their secluded spot inside. Lights flashed from the rescue services, camera's clicked away from reporters, and Sam was sure he saw a couple of video teams making news of the high school shooting. In an instant the crowd burst into cheers and screams of joy as the hostages came out of the school, and like a mob everyone ran towards loved ones to make sure they were ok.

"C'mon Dean," Sam whispered out, "…Dad… be here."

The feeling of tears burnt curiously in Sam's eyes as he searched around desperately for his family; feeling people bang into him from all around. A minute seemed like an hour, but finally Sam heard someone yell out his name.

"Sam!" turning around, Sam saw Dean waving frantically in the distance, "_Sammy!_"

"Dean," Sam breathed out rushing through the people.

Moments later Sam was in his brother's arms, hugging Dean fiercely as he leaned into his big brother. Holding tight, Sam attempted to stop his emotions from flowing over before moving back.

"Sammy," twenty-two year old Dean had tears swimming in his own eyes as he took hold of both sides of his brother's face, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Sam took a deep, quivering breath as he shook his head, "No… I'm ok."

Dean smiled as he brushed his hand through Sam's hair, "Good… when we heard what happened…"

Dean swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence, and it was at the word 'we' when Sam realized that his Dad wasn't standing there.

"What about Dad?" Sam's voice cracked, "Where's Dad?"

"He's by the car," Dean nodded off behind him, "I think he was scared…"

Wordlessly Sam walked off towards where Dean motioned the car to be; big brother in tow. The crowd thinned out as they walked, and Sam saw the sleek, black Impala before he saw his Dad standing worriedly near the hood.

"Dad!" Sam called out.

"Thank God," John closed his eyes briefly before meeting his son in a tight embrace.

Sam let out a strangled sob as he closed his eyes tight, letting the moment he never thought would happen play out.

"I'm really sorry Dad," Sam whispered into his father's leather jacket, "…I'm so sorry for what I said before."

"It's ok Sammy," John cleared his throat from his own tears, "It doesn't matter."

John pulled his son back to get a better look at him. His youngest boys eyes were red from both shed and unshed tears, and he looked more tired than John ever wanted to see any of his children. As he continued to scan his son, it was then that he noticed the blood on Sam's shirt.

"Sammy," John's hand went down to the blood, "… your shirt."

Sam looked down and cringed at the memory of Mr. Edwards, "It's not mine."

"Who's--" John started to ask, but stopped, "Are you hurt Sam?"

"I'm alright," Sam breathed deep, trying to will his heart back to a normal pace, "I'm really sorry about arguing with you Dad. I didn't mean it."

"It's ok Sammy," John continued to hold onto Sam's arm if for no other reason than to keep physical contact, "I didn't realize what it meant to you to stay here. If you really want to, I can set it up so that you and Dean can stay here so you can graduate, and then meet up with me in Georgia."

"Yeah," Dean quickly jumped in, "I don't mind staying with you Sammy."

Sam smiled sincerely, "Thanks you guys… really. But I think I just want to get out of here."

"Whatever you want," John spoke quietly before pulling his son in another hug, "I'm just glad you're alright."

Father and son broke away, and John went around to get in the drivers seat. Feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember being, Sam opened up the back seat and climbed in. It was then, with a small lingering sense of gratitude, that Dean climbed into the back seat as well and sat with his little brother. Sam sighed contently; he'd go anywhere as long as he had his family with him.

The End.


	58. Shocked

_Disclaimer: If Jensen Ackles or Jared Padalecki wrote a fanfiction on here, would they have to say no...?_

_A/N: Hola mi amigas (y amigos?). Haha, ok, so my Spanish kindda sucks-- two semesters of it in University doesn't quite qualify me for much. So tonight's one shot is one that's been on my computer for a long time, and kind of really sucks because Dean's a real wuss in it. Haha... but maybe it works, who knows-- I just wanted to post it on here to make all my other stories look better. Thank you all so much for your support on my last story, it meant a lot! And now I want to do something that might interest you all. I've asked before what your guys' favorite story was so far, so now I'll let you know some stuff of what I think of my writing...  
favorite story: Oh man... it's such a hard choice... but I'm going to go with 'I Always Wanted to be a Fireman'... a hard choice, but I remember writing that one, and not once thinking 'oh man this sucks'.  
least favorite story: Haha... this one? Umm... yeah, either this one or 'Dean Winchester' because that story just didn't cut it for me.  
hardest story to write: By far the hardest one was The Search of the Titles! That one took me hours to write-- it was unbelievably hard to fit the titles in while making real sentences.  
easiest story to write: Surprisingly it was 'To Say Goodbye'. Even though it was the 6th oneshot I posted, it was the second one I ever wrote, and I remember it came so quickly and easily.  
Well-- hope that entertained you-- now, off to read, review and enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: Shocked  
Genre: Suspense  
Summary: Another asylum turns Dean into a very convincing Dr Jekyll who seems to think it's Sam's turn to be punished._

Shocked

Sam hated asylums ever since the last one they'd visited, and he'd tried to kill Dean. But Dean had insisted that nothing would happen at this one-- promised him that he'd keep Sam safe. There was a poltergeist in the hospital that would lock people in rooms.

That was it; nothing more.

Dean had started acting different and strange after he'd been locked in a small room. It was a terrifying few minutes with yelling and banging coming from both sides of the door. The end result was both brothers being absolutely sure that each other was alright, and then moving on with much more caution. If only Sam had known what had happened in that room. Maybe if he had known he wouldn't have turned his back on Dean.

Sam was unconscious mere seconds later.

When the younger brother awoke, the sun was shinning brightly in through the grim on the windows. He was laying down, and when Sam tried to move his legs or arms, he immediately found that he had been strapped to a bed.

"Ohh…" Sam moaned, closing his eyes, the memories of what had happened running through his head, "Damn it."

Straining, he lifted his head up and looked around the small room. He was clearly still in the hospital, and Sam spotted numerous counters off to one side, and a large lamp over his head. A tray with different instruments sat beside the bed he was in, and a desk with a wheeled chair sat against the far wall giving clue that he was in a doctors examining room.

"Dean…" Sam muttered out before speaking louder, "_Dean!_"

"Ahh, you're awake," Dean walked over with a smile on his face, "So good to see that you made it through your fit."

"Fit?" Sam scrunched up his eyebrows, "…listen Dean, something happened to you. You're not--"

"Come now Samuel," Dean shook his head sadly, "You're not going to make this more difficult than it has to be, are you?"

Curiosity got the better of Sam, "What more difficult?"

Dean's voice softened sinisterly, "You know what happens when you have one of your fits Samuel. We can't let it go unpunished."

"Dean please," Sam strained against the restraints, "Something possessed you. We need to figure this out."

"The only thing we need to figure out," Dean sat on the chair and wheeled over to the small table by the bed, "Is what voltage we want to use."

"Voltage?" Sam swallowed hard.

"Your shock treatment isn't going to go away if you play stupid," Dean spoke harshly, "You were a bad boy Samuel, and bad boys need to be punished!"

"Dean, no, no…" Sam gasped out.

"And where do you get off calling me Dean?" again, Dean's voice was angry, "You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Doctor'… do you understand?"

Sam remained silent.

"_Do you understand?!_"

"Yes Sir," Sam whispered.

"Very good," Dean stood to his feet and looked down at the small machine, "Now-- I think your reluctance and attitude deserves a full 200. Don't you?"

"Please!" Sam begged, "You just-- you have to fight it Dean. This is me; Sam!"

"I know exactly who you are Samuel, and I don't care!" Dean barked back just as loudly.

"I'm your brother," Sam tried desperately, tears prickling at his eyes.

Dean's voice was silent and cold as he spoke, "My brother died when he was a baby in a fire. I have no family."

"No, no," Sam shook his head, "_I'm_ your brother Dean. I didn't die in the fire-- you saved me! You have to believe me."

"If you're lucky," Dean picked up a large rubber tongue depressor, "This will kill you."

"Please, please," Sam spoke near a whisper, "Please don't let it do this to me Dean. Please…"

Dean roughly stuck the instrument into Sam's mouth, then turned towards the shock machine. With a loud hum, he turned it on to full, and picked up something that looked like a stethoscope with large rubber balls at the end.

"Hang on tight Samuel," Dean grinned, "This may hurt."

Sam's whole body shook, tears rolling gently down his cheeks. As Dean leaned over him, the instrument running with enough current to kill a person clutched in his hands, Sam caught sight of his big brothers eyes; completely black. It terrified Sam more than the thought that he may be killed, and slowly, in a last, desperate hope, Sam shook his head back and forth.

"No…" Dean suddenly gasped, his eyes flashing their emerald green.

Sam's heartbeat quickened, his tears of fear continuing to roll onto the sheets bellow him.

"Don't hurt… Sammy," Dean struggled out of his mouth.

Suddenly Dean's neck and back arched in pain, a sickening yell escaping his mouth. The black essence of evil shot out of Dean's opened mouth as he continued to cry out in pain before collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

Sam struggled harder than ever to move, or to somehow get the depressor out of his mouth; all to no avail. It seemed to take an eternity before Dean groaned and sat up.

"What--" the older Winchester struggled to comprehend his surroundings, "Sam…?"

Sudden, vivid memories washed over Dean as he shot to his feet, staring in terror at the bed which Sam was strapped to.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out leaping over in one step, "…oh God."

Within seconds Dean had grabbed the large piece of plastic out of Sam's mouth.

"Dean," Sam immediately spoke, "Dean…"

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered out, frantically undoing Sam's arms and legs, "I'm sorry Sammy… I'm so sorry."

Sam just stared for the nearly twenty seconds it took Dean to do this task.

"Dean," Sam finally whispered out hoarsely, "Is it you?"

Sam sat up fully in the bed as Dean walked over, and covered the majority of his face with his hand; nodding feebly as a stray tear marked its way down.

"Dean," Sam spoke slowly, forcing his own emotions not to flow over, "Are you ok?"

"Sammy," Dean's voice sounded weak and more scared than Sam could ever remember hearing it, "Sammy… I--"

Sam smiled and interrupted him, "You kept me safe."

Dean let out a hiccoughed laugh and pulled his little brother into a rare Winchester brother hug.

The End.


	59. Knocking on Heaven's Door

_Disclaimer: There is no better way to say no than by saying yes backwards. _

_A/N: It's me again! Miss me? Haha... ok, so I'm bored. I got another one shot for you all tonight that's a request one, but before I get into that, I have some bad news. I am but a **very** poor University student, and alas the worst has come; I can no longer afford my internet. Bad luck laced with a little more bad luck has made this happen, and so on the 7th (Thursday), my internet will be cut off. So next Wednesday will be the last day I'll be posting for a long while unless some sort of miracle happens. I'll try and post something each day until then (including a death fic I did many a months ago), so I hope you all will enjoy.  
Ok-- so with this one shot. It was a request fic from a while ago that sparked my interest-- a sort of what if for in season one in the episode 'Dead in the Water'. At the end the Sheriff gives himself up to the spirit to save Lucas. The request was a story written where what if when the spirit was dragging the Sheriff down, he grabbed onto Sam to try and save himself, and dragged him down too? I gave it my best, and I hope you enjoy! _

* * *

_Title: Knocking on Heaven's Door  
Genre: Pretty suspensful and angsty  
Summary: Dean surfaces the water with Lucas clutched in his arms, but when he looks around... he realizes Sam didn't come back up._

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Dean burst through the surface of the water with a surge of adrenaline. Lucas' still body was clutched tightly in his arms as he gasped in a breath of fresh air.

"No!" Andrea shrieked loudly, lunging at the end of the dock for her son.

"It's ok," Dean panted as he felt Lucas shift in his arms, "He's ok, he's alright!"

"Lucas," tears fell down Andrea's face as she pulled Lucas fully onto the dock.

The young boys eyes fully opened and he took a deep quivering breath as Andrea clutched her son close. Dean watched for a few moments as he struggled to catch his own breath, and it was only as he looked around for the whereabouts of his brother that he noticed Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Sam," Dean muttered before looking at Andrea, "Hey! Where's Sam?"

Andrea's eyes scanned around, "I-I don't know."

"_Sam!_" Dean turned frantically in the water, "Sammy!"

"H-he was trying to help Dad last time I saw him," Andrea choked out.

"Oh God," Dean breathed swimming to the area that he'd seen the spirit pull Sheriff Devins down to his death, "_Sammy!_"

Still no answer.

"He's still under there?!" Andrea cried out still clutching Lucas.

"I don't know," Dean breathed, praying that he wasn't.

Without another word to the discussion, Dean took a deep breath and dove into the far from warm water. Everything was dark and murky, and Dean struggled to see any sign of Sam in the water. His lungs burning, Dean swung his arms down bellow him frantically and refused to surface until he found his brother.

'_Come on Sammy!_' Dean's mind screamed.

Finally the tip of Dean's finger's brushed up against something that felt like material. Frantically he pulled himself down towards the person and saw, in the dim light still seeping through the surface, that it was Sam. His heart skipped a beat though as his little brother's eyes were closed and lifeless, and when Dean attempted to pull him back up to the surface, he wouldn't move.

'_What the hell!_' Dean scrambled through the darkness to try and figure out what was holding Sammy under the water.

It only took a second, though it seemed like hours for Dean to realize that something was clasping tightly around Sam's arm. Dean's first instinct was that it was the spirit, though realized quickly that it was a human hand holding onto Sam.

'_Devins_,' Dean realized with a start, '_You son of a bitch, let him go!_'

His head spinning with the lack of oxygen Dean struggled to free his little brother's arm, it finally coming loose with one final tug. Fear pulsing through him, Dean squeezed tight onto Sam and struggled to get to the surface.

'_It's been way too long!_' the frantic thought pounded through Dean's mind, '_Please Sammy! Please be ok!_'

Dean remembered when they were little they used to have a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. It was slightly frowned upon from their Dad as Dean passed out one time and smacked his jaw against the dining room table. Sam always won the contest, and Dean prayed now that would hold true, and that maybe Sam would be alright.

"Help me!" Dean burst out as he surfaced from the water.

"Oh God," Andrea gasped jumping down the shore and quickly wading out.

Sam's six-foot-four body was dragged limply ashore by Andrea and Dean as Lucas watched on; his eyes wide.

"Sam," Dean bent down to his brother's still form, "_Sammy!_"

Lucas walked down his Mom who put an arm around his waste, "It's ok honey. It's ok."

"No, no, no," Dean's heart hammered in his chest as he turned Sam's body onto its side, "C'mon Sam!"

Sam's body remained deadly still and with a strong jab, Dean smacked his brother's back. Instantly a loud cough escaped though Sam's mouth as water garbled out.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean rubbed Sam's back as Sam coughed viciously onto the ground beside him, "That's it Sammy."

Sam's whole body convulsed as he spit and choked up water onto the ground. Dean continued to rub and pat Sam's back gently as he whispered reassurances. Finally the convulsions stopped, and Sam slowly rolled back over onto his back.

"Is he ok?" Andrea whispered, holding once again onto Lucas.

"I don't know," Dean admitted turning his gaze back onto his brother whose eyes were once again closed, "Hey Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Deep rattling breaths came from Sam's body as slowly he nodded his head. Dean let out a breath he never realized he was holding as he moved himself around Sam's body to get a better view of his face.

"Sammy, open your eyes for me," Dean requested.

Breath still coming in deep pants Sam opened his eyes and stared up at the sky and trees. The effort of even turning his head was too much for the younger brother as he tried to clear his head and remember what had happened. He remembered diving in the water to try and help Lucas, and then saw the Sheriff wadding in as a sacrifice. On his second dive under, Sam tried to help him, but the Sheriff had grabbed Sam's arm in a feeble attempt to save himself.

The hunter didn't remember much after that.

"Sam," Dean's voice was soft, "Can you sit up?"

Sam held up a shaky hand, "…help…"

Trying to will his heart back to a normal pace, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him into a sitting position. Once up, Sam let out another cough and spit a mouthful of water onto the ground beside him. Slowly Sam took deep breaths, and squeezed Dean's arm in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Just breath Sammy," Dean remained crouched in front of his brother, "Take your time."

Sam nodded and took the advice as he watched the water drip down from his hair. His chest felt tight and he could still feel water inside with each breath he took, but the more he breathed, the better he felt. Finally he felt secure enough to let go of Dean.

"You ok Sam?" Dean put a hand on the side of Sam's jaw and turned his face up towards him, "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Sam confirmed.

Dean breathed deep as he ran his hand over his own face. A moment of silence enveloped everyone there before a voice spoke up.

"It was Dad wasn't it?" Andrea's strangled, tear-filled whisper came from behind Sam.

Sam turned around to face her and was about to answer when Dean cut in, "No. No, it wasn't. It was the spirit; I guess in the heat of everything it grabbed Sam too."

A small amount of relief seemed to wash over Andrea's face, and Dean placed a silent hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Think you can walk Sammy?" Dean asked and smiled at the aggravated look Sam shot out at the word choice.

Sam nodded and weakly stood to his feet as Andrea lifted up Lucas in her arms. Dean grabbed under Sam's armpit to stop his little brother from toppling backwards, and helped him walk along the gravel to the grass.

"You sure you're ok?" Dean questioned as Andrea walked further up ahead.

"Yeah," Sam spoke quietly, "But… why? It _was_ the Sheriff, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed as he watched Andrea hold close to her son, "But who wants to remember their Dad as a coward?"

The End.


	60. Shotguns and Demons

_Disclaimer: Just five more days until I can't post anymore, so just five more ways I gotta think of to say no._

_A/N: It's me again! Haha, ok, so my stories have been bombing lately, but that's ok. Tonight's one shot I wrote up this morning actually. Last night I was enjoying watching season one, and when I got to the final episode was entertained when Dean was talking about the last time they'd seen Bobby. He said that Bobby had threatened to shoot their Dad, and immediately I knew I wanted to write a quick story of the last time they'd seen each other. So, here it is! Enjoy people!_

* * *

_Title: Shotguns and Demons  
Genre: Really action packed... and some angst thrown in for good measure  
Summary: Some times even the best of friends argue. But when John shows up at Bobby's place with a demon on his tail, Bobby is a little more than pissed._

Shotguns and Demons

_"Last time we saw you, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything." --Devils Trap_

-§-

"Bobby, duck!" Sam yelled.

Bobby followed the instructions just as Sam shot a barrel full of buckshot at the demon which had materialized directly behind the family friend. Just as quickly the thing disappeared, but everyone in the room knew it wasn't gone.

"You ok Bobby?" Dean asked from his position sprawled out on the floor in the corner of the room.

"John, you _idiot!_" instead of answering Dean, Bobby turned his attention to the oldest Winchester, who was standing poised by the door of the room with his own gun in hand, "I don't know what was more stupid-- you bringing your _sons_ here, or bringing the damn demon here!"

John glanced over at seventeen year old Sam who was helping Dean up from the ground, "They're both grown boys. They can handle themselves."

"Really?" Bobby spat out in anger, "Because I could swear I just saw Dean go flying across this room!"

"Hey!" Dean defended.

Bobby looked at Dean, "I'm sorry Dean, but your father has got to learn to put his family before his hunt."

"I'm twenty-one," Dean frowned, "He didn't _make_ me come."

"He made me come," Sam mumbled.

"Shut up Sam," Dean elbowed his brother hard in the side.

"I am not putting them in any more danger than I know they can handle," John spoke up as he walked fully into the room, "They have trained for things like this their whole lives."

"Things like this?" Bobby laughed looking around the destroyed room, "Things like coming to your friends place for the first time in over a year, and just forgetting to tell them that you're bringing along a demon to play with?"

"We didn't know it would follow us," Dean interjected, "We came to get help."

"_You_, stay out of this," surprisingly it was John who barked the order as he turned harshly to his eldest.

Dean was going to make an argument back, but didn't have time as the very large, very powerful shadow demon materialized again; this time going after Sam.

"Sammy, move!" Dean cried a moment too late.

The shotgun was flung out of Sam's hand moments before the teen was lifted up into the air and thrown violently against a bookshelf at the far end of the room. Like a dead weight, Sam crashed to the ground with a solid thump, and lay there unmoving.

"Sammy!" John shouted taking a step towards his fallen son.

"Dad, behind you!" Dean warned as he spotted the demon behind his father.

With trained reflexes, John swung around, and shot his gun towards the ever elusive demon. Again, the thing disappeared before any noticeable damage had been done to it. For the next several minutes, the demon seemed to play a game between Dean and John; materializing behind or beside one or the other stopping them from getting close enough to Sam to check on him.

"Bobby, damn it, get Sam!" John demanded as he was thrown against a wall.

Bobby stood hovering over a desk, staring down at a book.

"Bobby!" Dean now cried out spotting his little brother still motionless on the ground, "Go to Sam!"

Bobby didn't move, but instead began to mumble words under his breath as he stared at the scene playing out before him. Thankful that the shadow demon was occupied with the Winchester's, Bobby looked back down at the book.

"Bobby I'm going to shoot _you_ if you don't get your ass over to my son!" John threatened as three large slices cut across the left side of his face.

"Dad," a strangled gasp came from Dean, "…Dad, help…"

John quickly turned his attention to his oldest and his eyes widened as he saw Dean slowly being lifted from the ground by his neck. Instantly John had his gun pointed towards where the demon was trying to kill his eldest, but just as quickly his gun was ripped from his hands.

"…Dad…" Dean's mouth hung open, his eyes wide in fear and pain.

"_Dean!_" John cried out, desperately lunging towards him.

All to no avail, however, as John was flung backwards against the wall again. Dean was just beginning to feel light headed and feel his world coming to a close when a loud screech echoed through the room, and the hunter fell the nearly six feet to the ground with a gasp.

Everything was quiet.

"Dad," Dean finally choked out quickly followed by a loud, hacking cough.

"Dean," John looked up at the form of his oldest crumpled on the ground, and then over at Sam, "Bobby--!"

"I got Sam," Bobby immediately informed.

John rushed to his eldest, "Dean!"

Dean was breathing deep as pain wracked through his entire body. Carefully John grabbed him by the arm, and helped pull him to his feet.

"Dean, are you alright?" John's eyes were wide as he held tight to his son's arm.

Dean nodded.

"Can you breath ok?" John question spotting the harsh red marks across his neck.

Again Dean nodded, "I'm fine," his gaze looked over at Bobby hunched over his brother, "…Sammy!"

Supporting Dean the whole while, the two oldest Winchester's worked their way across the room to Sam. John let out a sigh of relief as he saw Sam sitting up in the pile of rubble.

"Hey Sammy," John let go of Dean and bent down to his son's level, "How do you feel?"

Sam looked dazed at his father for a moment; Bobby's hand supporting his back so he could sit up properly. John frowned at the blood coming down Sam's face, and the small amount of blood that was pooled on his once blue shirt.

"Sammy?" again John tried to get a verbal response as he put a hand on his youngest boys arm.

"I'm alright… I think," Sam confirmed, "What-what happened?"

"You took a swan-dive into the bookshelf," Dean supplied from his wobbly standing position.

Sam stared at Dean and noticed the bruising around his neck, "Dean… you're hurt."

"He'll be fine," John cut in, "Sammy, I need you to tell me if anything hurts right now."

"It'll be easier to say what doesn't," Sam frowned.

"I'm serious Sam," John spoke flatly.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, "I'll be fine Dad."

"Can you stand?" Bobby was the one who asked the next question as he got up and moved to in front of Sam.

Sam nodded and held out his hand. Both Bobby and John took hold of the young hunter, and helped him into a standing position. Once up, John took hold of the side of Sam's face to get a better look at where the blood was coming from. Satisfied that his son didn't need immediate attention, he looked over at Bobby.

"What did you do?"

"Saved your ass," anger was once again in Bobby's voice, "Next time you decide to play this little game John, give me a warning, and maybe your boys won't have to get beat to hell in order for me to get rid of the damn thing."

"You're blaming this on me?" John asked outraged.

"You're damn right I am!" Bobby's voice rose, "You come waltzing in here with no warning, and next thing I know my place has been destroyed by a demon. I thought you were a _trained_ hunter John, you should have known better!"

"I thought you were a hunter as well," John argued back like a six year old, "Instead you took your time getting rid of that thing."

Bobby's mouth dropped open, "Took my time? You try doing an exorcism while people are shouting at you!"

"My son was dying on the floor!" John shot back.

Sam stared down at the floor, "…Dad."

"Shut-up Sam," John momentarily turned his attention to Sam before turning back to Bobby, "If I had to, I'd do this again. That thing was killing people."

"It was trying to kill your kids!" Bobby motioned back to Sam and Dean who stood awkwardly near the back of the room.

"They can handle themselves!" John's loud voice scratched in his throat.

Fiercely Bobby grabbed his shotgun which was sitting on the desk, and pointed it at the hunter, "Go John."

John's face scrunched up, "Are you really so blind as to not see what just happened?"

"I know exactly what just happened," Bobby's voice had gone back to being calm again as he cocked the shotgun, "Now go."

"Come on boys," John huffed turning his back and walking determinedly out the door.

Dean gave a fleeting look at Bobby before grabbing Sam's arm to help him walk the distance to the car outside.

"Thanks Bobby," Sam whispered quietly before leaving.

"You boys take care of yourselves," Bobby had placed the gun back down on his desk, a small smile twitching at his features as he looked out the door which John had left out of, "And take care of him."

The End.


	61. For You, Dean

_Disclaimer: Not mine!_

_A/N: Ok people... run... hide under the desk... cover your eyes... go to a different story and pretend it was the new story... there is a **warning**. Tonight's one shot **is a death fic**. I wrote it quite a while ago, but never posted it because of obvious reasons. I can't remember why I wrote it, but for those of you who wish to venture into it, please do. Tomorrow's one shot is going to be a funny one, so it'll off-balance this one. Well... here it goes... try to enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: For You, Dean  
Genre: Tragedy and Angst  
Summary: Sometimes it's not always the supernatural that can threaten a life._

For You, Dean

Sam remembered the day well; it was the best day of his life-- without a doubt. The look that Dean had given him was one that Sam could never forget, nor would he want to. And the words his big brother told him…

"You did good Sammy."

Sam couldn't help it after that, and had hugged Dean for all it was worth. It lasted a few seconds before Dean shot out '_Ok, enough Princess_', and the two enjoyed more than a few beers together. Sam played pool, while Dean hustled up some money, and it wasn't until three in the morning that day that the Winchester's finally settled in for the night at a crummy motel. The next morning broke with the continued excitement; particularly from Sam. He'd never forget that day.

The day he broke the deal.

Sam had been determined; Dean having such a short amount of time left. Luck was on the hunter's side as he found just the right demon, and made just the right move. It was all over before Sam had known it started. It was by far not an easy fight; Sam walking away with thirty stitches and two broken ribs, but when he walked into the room his brother had been in, and told him what happened. It was all worth it-- Dean would live!

But fate can be cruel.

"Sammy," it was a mere two days after the celebrating that Dean walked solemnly into a hotel room where his brother was, "…can I talk to you?"

Sam put down a gun which he'd been cleaning out, and immediately noticed the look on Dean's face, "What's wrong?"

Dean sat down on the edge of one of the twin beds and took a deep breath, "Sam… I got something to tell you man."

Cancer.

No! No Winchester ever died of something so… normal and unforeseen. No, if Dean were to be sick, or get killed, it would be heroically; saving someone, or killing some evil son of a bitch. At least this was what Sam continued to argue. Continued to declare as Dean gently explained to him that the doctor said it was a tumor pressing against his heart. Continued to state as Dean got sicker and weaker from treatment. Continued to shout as the doctor told Sam the chances of survival were slim at best.

"Dean, don't do this," Sam whispered a month later as he sat in Dean's hospital room, "Please… don't leave me."

Dean smiled, "Sammy… everything will be fine. You're tough; I showed you everything I know."

Sam swallowed hard-- the tears falling freely, "Don't give up. Just… don't give up please? Keep fighting."

Dean smiled weakly, "I will."

And Dean Winchester did. Another round of chemotherapy and two surgeries later, the doctor gave the best news either hunter had heard in a long time; the cancer was in remission. Dean was getting better! Sam hugged Dean again; though this time his brother let it last longer as his own tears of relief showed his true feelings.

"See Dean," Sam smiled through his own emotions, "All you had to do was fight."

Dean grinned weakly back, "I know Sammy… but this friggin thing can come back any time. It's like the demon's deal without a time frame."

"Dean, don't talk like that!" Sam demanded.

"I don't want to," Dean got serious, "_But_, if it ever does come back… I want you to do something for me…"

Recovery was slow after that; Dean had much more healing to do, but soon the brother's left the hospital. The tumor was gone, and Sam was eagerly talking about going back to hunting-- Dean agreed. They started slow, and Sam insisted on doing most of the work; Dean taking the backseat researcher roll.

"Sam, this sucks!" Dean tossed a thick book to the side, "_You're_ geek boy! I'm… Hans Solo."

"Dean, you're still sick," Sam stated.

Dean laughed, "I'm not sick. I've been fine for months now-- I saved your ass on that last hunt. Now it's my turn-- you research, and I'll…"

Sam grinned, "Sit around on your ass?"

"Like I said," Dean stretched out as Sam picked back up the book, "You're geek boy, and I'm the cool person."

Sam rolled his eyes and began looking up information on the random piece of evil they were hunting. Everything was back to normal, and Sam cherished every word that came out of his big brother's mouth. He would do anything for him, even if it did mean doing all the research…

_Dean stood by the picket fence near the water, and looked at Sam, "I just think we ought'a go to the Grand Canyon."_

_Sam stared at his brother in confusion at the abrupt statement, "What?"_

"_Yeah, you know, all this driving back and forth cross country, you know, I've never been to the Grand Canyon." _…

Sam stood, a smile on his face as he stared at the sun setting in the distance, "You always said you wanted to come here Dean."

If the Grand Canyon was amazing during the day, it was breath taking at sundown; the red and orange shooting across the prehistoric landscape mesmerized anyone. Sam wondered, briefly, why it took them so long to see such a famous place-- Dean was right, they traveled all across the country, and would be within hours of the Grand Canyon, and yet they never came.

"You better love it dude," Sam laughed, "Because to come here…" Sam paused and spoke quietly as his voice cracked, "…it's the hardest thing I've ever done. But--" a single tear rolled down Sam's face, "I'm doing it for you Dean."

Closing his eyes, Sam Winchester took the top off from the plain, black porcelain urn and held it out to the land bellow him. The soft, warm breeze carried the ashes on for miles, and Sam stayed until the sun was gone, and only the stars kept him company.

The End.


	62. What if you were a chick Sam?

_Disclaimer: 14 15_

_A/N: Howdy doodle! I got a better reaction to that last story than I expected-- thanks guys! I'm glad you're enjoying these! So today, ladies and gentlemen... I did something stupid. So increadibly stupid (ask Windy Fontaine... haha... I told her, and she agreed). But... with a stupid act, comes a good thing... it gave me a story idea. So tomorrow I am going to try and have out a story that entales my unbelievably stupid thing I did. So why am I telling you this now? To tease the holy hell outta you all. Haha... I'm a bitch.  
Tonight's one shot, on the other figurative hand, is another lame attempt at my humor. It's a stupid one shot meant to make you smile at best. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: What if you were a chick Sam?  
Genre: my God awful humor...  
Summary: Bored out of his mind, Dean ponders what it would be like if Sam had been a girl... all to Sam's utmost annoyance._

What if you were a chick Sam?

Sam glanced down at his foot and sighed deeply. The white cast which covered it was now dirty and more gross looking than Sam would have cared. It had been on his foot for just over two weeks now, and Sam longed for the next week to hurry and go by so that he could take off the damn thing and Dean would finally let them leave the motel room.

"_Not until you can walk without my ass having to drag you!_"

Dean's words still rung clear in Sam's mind from two weeks ago after they left the hospital and Sam suggested they look up another hunt. Not that Sam even wanted to go on one right away; hell, it was a hunt that caused him to break five bones in his left foot. But Sam also didn't want to sit around in a crappy motel for three weeks.

Dean insisted they did.

"That'll teach you to jump from two stories up," Dean grinned from his respective bed as he caught sight of Sam staring at his foot.

"_Pushed_ Dean, pushed," Sam corrected flatly.

"Whatever dude. You should of landed on your head; less damage."

"I should have landed on you," Sam shot back with a twitch of a smile, "There'd be even less."

Dean stretched as he attempted to find something interesting on the tv, "Just one more week of your beauty rest Samantha, then we can go."

"That joke just keeps getting funnier _every_ time," Sam spoke sarcastically.

Dean smiled, then paused as a series of thoughts seemed to rush through his head. This was a dangerous thing, Sam had come to realize. Especially after being holed up in the same place for sixteen days straight-- Dean was starting to get desperate for entertainment.

"Hey Sam…"

"Yeah?" Sam regretfully responded.

Dean spoke slowly and with serious thought, "What if you were a chick?"

Sam stared dumbly at Dean for a few moments wondering if he had heard his older brother correctly. He knew that the pain pills he was given could cause drowsiness, but hallucinations? Or perhaps Dean's recent trip to the corner store wasn't just to pick up some groceries, but to really smoke some crack with the neighborhood tough guys, and he was now having a _really_ bad reaction.

"Seriously…" Dean broke Sam's thoughts, "Think about it."

"I'm thinking you've been drinking," Sam half joked.

"Yeah, like I'd be _here_ if I were drinking," Dean dismissed, "I was just thinking-- if you were a chick, would yellow eyes have still gone after you?"

Dean was serious!

"I don't think evil is sexist," Sam shifted awkwardly in his bed to get a better view of his brother, "Ava wasn't exactly a guy, and neither was that Lily girl in South Dakota."

"I bet Mom and Dad would have named you Samantha," Dean mussed, leaning back against the headboard; clearly amused in his thoughts.

"Dude, are you for real?" Sam laughed out in disbelief, "Or did you fall and smack your head on something?"

"Well the name fits you." Dean ignored Sam's comment, "I remember vaguely when Mom was pregnant with you. Dad would sit with me and tell me that there was a baby inside Mom… scared the holy hell out of me."

Sam laughed at this, "You're such an idiot."

Again Dean just ignored Sam's bantering, "But what if you ended up being a girl… Dad would have raised us totally differently even if Mom had died."

"What do you mean?" Sam's own morbid curiosity was wondering where Dean's thought process was taking him.

Dean absentmindedly played with a knife in his hand, "Well I know you were a wussy kid anyways, but if you were a girl, you'd have had an excuse," Dean's eyes suddenly lit up as he turned to Sam, "Just think Sammy-- you could have worn a dress _without_ getting the crap beaten out of you!"

"It was a kilt, and a seventh grade play!" Sam shot out defensively.

Dean laughed, "Sure," again he went on before Sam could make any more comments, "You would have been an awesome hunter I bet… every month you'd become your own special superhero."

Sam laughed.

"No demon in the world would mess with you man," Dean got to his feet and wandered into the kitchen area in search of food, "That would have caused _way_ cooler arguments between you and Dad. I wonder if he would have called you sweetie…"

"Dude, enough!" Sam laughed out.

Dean frowned, "I bet there would have been more hugs growing up too. Your pansy ass likes to do that enough now, just imagine a whole bunch of estrogen bouncing around inside you."

Sam watched deadpan as Dean pulled out a white container from the fridge and sniff its contents, "'Course we would have had to have separate bedrooms. No way would I have slept in the same room as your frilly ass."

"What the hell are you eating?" Sam questioned watching Dean dig into his new found food.

Dean frowned, staring down into the container, "I don't know. Want some?"

Sam could feel the color drain somewhat from his face, "I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Dean shoveled another mouthful of food into his mouth.

Slowly, and to Dean's critical eye, Sam stood up and grabbed the crutches that were sitting by his bed. Though the prospect of eating whatever Dean was eating made his stomach churn, the younger brother couldn't ignore the grumble for sustenance.

"What're you doing?" Dean questioned as his brother made his way into the kitchen.

"Getting some food," Sam stated.

"I could have got you something," Dean's big brother mode started to click in as he surveyed Sam's attempt at walking.

The young hunter once again looked at the container in Dean's hand, "I want to actually live to know what I'm eating."

Dean rolled his eyes, "You're too picky dude." he paused before putting in, "If you were a chick, I bet you'd be worse."

"Are you still going on with that?" Sam asked exasperated.

Dean shrugged, "Got nothing else to do… know what else I bet you'd have been good at?"

Again, regretfully, Sam responded, "What?"

"Getting stuff," Dean stated, "You know, instead of using all my hard earned money, all you'd have to do it flash some of your--"

"_Dean!_" Sam burst in a half laugh as he pulled a box of crackers from the cupboard.

"All I'm saying is that your assets would have come in handy," Dean spoke innocently.

"I'm going to kick _your_ ass if you keep this up," Sam was only have serious and he wondered how much it would hurt Dean if he kicked him with his cast.

"No you won't," Dean brushed off the threat, "I can run faster than you."

"Right now," Sam smirked, "But just wait a couple of weeks."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah… like I'd really hang around."

"Your insufferable need to annoy me in any way possible would keep you here," Sam spoke the truth as he shoved food into his mouth.

"I bet you'd still have that annoying habit of talking in your sleep," Dean mused.

"Enough!" Sam demanded with a grin.

"Ok, ok," Dean laughed as he set down his container.

"You're like the energizer bunny," Sam commented in amazement, "If you put this much effort into school when you were a kid you would have been a genius."

"Naw," Dean grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom door, "I left that for you Samantha."

Dean's laugh echoed through the motel room as Sam's shoe hit solidly with the closed bathroom door.

The End.


	63. Cold

_Disclaimer: If these guys were mine, there'd be WAY more chick-flicks in the show... _

_A/N: Once again, greetings from up north. As per promised, I have made a story of the stupid thing I did last night. I, unheeding all childhood warnings, went outside without a jacket on last night. I walked in total about 4 miles in weather that was -18C (about -0.5F), and about -23C (about -9.5F) with windchill. I was an idiot! Never before have I felt that cold, or that type of pain. I tried to write it in the story (haha, and even had Sam have the same temprature as I did), so I had a fun time laughing at myself as I wrote this. Feel bad for Sam... it's over 24 hours later from when I did this, and I'm still struggling to keep my temprature above 98F, and am SO cold. Haha... I give you all permission to laugh at me, and enjoy the story! _

* * *

_Title: Cold  
Genre: Is stupidity a genre? haha  
Summary: Sam under-estimates the cold weather and thinks that he can make a small journey with no problems. What were you thinking Sam!?_

Cold

Sam was _sure_ Dean was in the Impala. Reclined in the seat slightly as he listened to some stupid tape at full blast in front of the heaters. The heaters. Sam scowled some more as he buckled his head against the wind and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. Realizing he needed to keep his blood circulating, Sam uncrossed his arms and moved them limply along his sides.

"Dean," Sam breathed deeply, his breath coming out in puffs, "I swear to God I will let you listen to any music you want if you just find me…"

There was no chance of that, Sam knew. The brothers had split up the day before, and agreed to meet at a rest stop just off the highway. Dean had initially offered to Sam to meet him somewhere in the small town but Sam had refused, stating that he might hitch his way to the next down over, so he had no idea where he'd be. Insisting that he could get a rid, or 'borrow' a car, Sam agreed to meet at the arranged place.

"Stupid idea," Sam muttered.

The rest stop was a fifteen minute drive from town, and Sam made it a full ten minutes in his chosen stolen car before it broke down. None of this would have been so bad, Sam realized, if it weren't for the fact that a sudden winter wind blew in temperatures well bellow freezing. Snow had began to fall from the darkening sky, and all Sam had keeping him warm was a hoodie and jeans. The young hunter had thought that the walk to the rest stop wouldn't be that bad in his badly dressed condition; that he'd be able to make it without much difficultly. Hell, both him and Dad had faced much worse.

Sam didn't realize how stupid of an idea that was.

"So cold," Sam pulled his hood tightly over his ears, feeling as if pins were prickling at every inch of exposed skin.

The road was nearly deserted, and any car that did pass by refused to pick up the youngest Winchester. It was only going to be a half hour walk at most, but already Sam could feel his cheeks burning with the cold. As time went on, the simply cold feeling started to turn painful.

"God…" Sam squeezed his eyes shut in pain as he continued his trek, "It hurts so bad."

Sam had vivid memories from when he was a kid and would play outside in the snow with Dean. So many times he'd feel cold, and just want to go inside, but nothing compared with this. This actually _hurt_. Just as the sign for the rest stop came into view, the pain began to subside. An odd feeling of numbness washed through Sam's body which he knew wasn't a good sign.

"Almost there," Sam stuttered out spotting the black car sitting under a tall light, "God Dean you better have that thing running…"

Wanting to run the rest of the way, but not having the energy, Sam picked up his pace to the Impala. Finally he'd made it! With a sigh of relief he got into the warm car.

"What took you so long?" Dean questioned as he turned down the music.

No answer came in question, and Dean looked over to see Sam leaning over in his seat with his arms wrapped close to his chest. Sam didn't even notice his brother's worried glance as he tried to get as close to the heater as possible.

"Jesus Sammy, what the hell happened?!" Dean cried out placing a tentative hand on Sam's arm.

"W-Walked," Sam spoke quietly.

"What?" Dean's eyes widened, "Why the hell did you walk? You said you'd be ok getting here!"

"It broke down," Sam wished dearly his brother would stop yelling, "Dean, I'm cold… heat please."

Greater realization of the situation clicked into Dean as he cranked up the heat as high as it would go and shrugged out of his jacket. Carefully he attempted to get Sam to uncoil himself.

"Where the hell is your jacket?" Dean asked in an accusatory voice.

"L-Left it in the car," Sam stuttered as Dean wrapped his jacket around the front of his brother.

"And your phone?" Dean reached into the backseat for a bag.

A smile touched Sam's blue lips as he looked at Dean, "In my jacket."

Dean bit back several cuss words which he wanted to throw at Sam, but saved them as he pulled out the medical kit. Curiously Sam watched through hazed eyes as Dean took out the thermometer and stuck it in his ear. All Sam wanted to do was go to a hotel, take a hot shower and curl up in bed, but waited impatiently as Dean went through his big brother routine.

"Damn it Sam…" Dean spoke quietly.

"What?" Sam attempted to get even closer to the heater.

Dean ran a hand across his face, "Dude, it's 95.1..."

Sam forced another smile, "I said I was cold."

"That's not cold, that's hypothermia Sam!" Dean shot out eyeing his brother's still blue lips.

"Lets just go," Sam pulled Dean's jacket tighter around him, "I just want to lay down."

"I don't know Sam," Dean kept a critical eye on his shivering brother, "Maybe we should go to the doctors…"

"Dean no," Sam shook his head, "I'm alright. I'll have a shower and, I don't know… drink a lot of hot coffee. Please can we just go. It's freezing in here."

Silently Dean pulled the car in gear, worry coursing through his body at his brother's words. The last thing it was, was cold in the car. Beads of sweat were forming on Dean's brow from the added heat in the car, but he left it on anyways as he sped off to the nearest hotel.

"Hey Sammy stay awake until you get that temperature up," Dean spoke a few minutes later.

"'M 'wake," Sam's muffled voice came from inside his sweater and Dean's jacket.

"If you go to sleep, I'm gonna shove this thermometer in other places," Dean playfully threatened.

"You shove that thermometer anywhere but my ear, and I'm shoving it in your mouth," Sam shot back momentarily uncovering his mouth for easier talking.

Dean smiled at the playful bantering and pressed a little harder on the accelerator. Ten minutes later they were checked into a small hotel and Dean had parked the car as close to the door as possible. He glanced over at Sam; the only sign of him being awake being the open eyes peeking out from the jacket.

"Ready to get up?" Dean questioned.

"'S cold ou'side?" Sam questioned.

"Naw, it's summer," Dean responded getting out of the car and going to Sam's side, "Come on Sammy, gotta get warmed up."

Reluctantly Sam dropped the jacket from his body and handed it back to Dean. Moving as quickly as his body would let him, Sam followed Dean into the small room.

"Go take a shower," Dean instructed, "I can bring in the bags. Just don't make it too hot."

Dean recalled past medical knowledge that if the body warmed up too quickly it could cause problems. Though the elder brother was fairly certain that Sam had warmed up a fair amount in the car, he still didn't want to take any chances. Sam didn't argue any of the advice, instead grabbed a bag which Dean had dropped on the ground and moved swiftly to the bathroom.

Five minutes later Dean lay tiredly on his chosen bed as he listened to the shower running in the bathroom. He didn't want to admit to Sam how worried and freaked out he'd been when he first saw his condition, but instead let the tension slowly ease out of him as Sam took his shower. It was nearly fifteen minutes later that Sam came out from the steam filled bathroom in nothing but his boxers.

"Nice dude," Dean's eyes widened, "You fricken get hypothermia and then decide to do a polar bear dip or something?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "The rest of my clothes are in the other bag."

Dean looked critically at his brother's muscular body. Most of his arms, legs and face were a deep red color that Dean knew wasn't from the warmth of the shower. The brother's were no stranger to cold weather, and had each got windburn before, but it was the thought of something worse that worried the big brother now.

"Any of it frostbite?" Dean asked as Sam sat on the edge of the bed to fish out clean, warm clothes.

"A bit on my hand, I think," Sam responded grabbing out a pair of sweatpants and slipping them on over his boxers.

"Lets see," Dean got up.

Sam sighed and shoved his left hand out to his brother, "It's nothing Dean. It'll be fine."

Dean took hold of the hand and looked at his brother's pointer finger. It was still a deep read with white speckling in some spots, and had a waxy look and feel to it. Dean knew it wasn't too serious, but made a mental note to check on it the next morning anyways.

"Alright _Dad_?" Sam smirked.

"Get a shirt on," Dean smiled and went to grab himself a drink.

Starting to once again feel cold, Sam pulled on a long sleeved shirt and sat on his bed, trying to decide if he wanted to grab some food or just go straight to sleep. Dean interrupted his thoughts as he once against stuck the thermometer in his ear.

"Dude, don't you have someone else you can bug?" Sam questioned.

"Not in particular," Dean pulled the thermometer out, "97.4-- much better. Do you want another blanket tonight?"

"No, I'm good," Sam pulled the blanket he did have back and curled up underneath it.

"Do you--" Dean began, but was cut off.

"Shut up Dean."

Dean smiled and settled into his own bed; flicking on the tv, "You know you were an idiot today Sam. You should have stayed with the car."

"This was _way_ more fun," Sam's sarcastic voice came muffled from under the blanket.

"Whatever dude," Dean laughed, "But if you try that again, I'm not only going to shove the thermometer somewhere else, I'm going to leave it there."

Dean smiled in satisfaction at Sam's lack of an answer and began to flip around through the channels. A burst of laughter came out of the older brother's mouth as he settled on watching the only clear show that he could pick up.

Frosty the Snowman.

The End.


	64. How To Save a Life

_Disclaimer: I don't have time to think of a cool way to say no._

_A/N: Wow, do I cut things down to the very last possible minute. My internet is going to be cut off in about half an hour. Haha... and finally I got this thing ready to post. I was going to post it last night, but had to practice for my theatre performance today, and was just really tired. But anyways-- I do have it done, and-- sadness --this is going to be my last one shot for a while. I'll try and earn some money up to buy another month of internet, but until then you'll have to live with my 60-someodd stories on here. I'm going to continue writing though, so when I do have it back, ya all will have something new to read. See ya, I'll miss you all, and continue to read, review and enjoy!! _

* * *

_Title: How To Save a Life  
Genre: in the end, it's just an excuse for some angst and fluff  
Summary: Left alone to scout a place out, Sam becomes the victim of a deadly routine. All Dean has to do is save him._

How To Save a Life

Dean pressed down harder on the accelerator as he saw smoke pillowing up in the distance. He cursed himself once more for leaving the scouting job for Sam, and gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned a contrasting white. Mentally the hunter went over everything from the past few hours.

"_Heads you scout, tails I do," Dean grab a coin from his pocket and threw it up._

_Sam grabbed it from midair, "I'm already the heads."_

_Dean smirked, "Which is why I would have said that it was heads either ways. You know what you're looking for?"_

_Sam took a deep breath as he shuffled briefly through the papers in his hands, "Well the house has supposedly burnt down to the ground eight times, but it always comes back… so I'm guessing a fire demon?" _

"_Probably," Dean agreed taking a sip of his coffee, "It's killed half a dozen people, so don't go inside."_

"_I know," Sam frowned, "But I just don't get it. Fire demons; they're nasty things that don't care who they kill. There's had to be dozens of people that have gone in and out of this house. Why only kill six?"_

"_It's picky?" Dean shrugged, "I don't know, and I don't care. The only thing that matters is that we get rid of the house somehow; fire demons are usually attached to specific objects, so if we get rid of the house, we get rid of the demon."_

_Sam was still weary on the theory, but figured he could get more information when he got there, "And what are you going to do while I'm checking the place out?"_

"_Check out the records of the people it killed," Dean placed a twenty dollar bill on the table, "Now come on, I want to try and get this over with before dark."_

_The drive to the house took almost an hour and a half at Dean's generous speed, and the brother's quickly found the place to be inconspicuous and out of the way. A long winding dirt road lead through a thicket to the house that was two stories tall. It was an old building made of mostly wood and a large brick fire place running up the left side. A porch which was half collapsed in beckoned daring, stupid teens, and Dean was willing to make a bet that the people which had been killed in the place were just that._

"_So this place has supposedly burnt to ground how many times?" Dean got out of the car and stared at the sturdy looking place._

"_Eight times," Sam glanced down at the paper and then up at the house, "Each time the fire is called in by someone who sees the smoke, or who gets close enough to actually see the fire. But by the time authorities get here, it looks like this," he looked back down at the paper in his hand, "And six of the times they've found a dead body inside burnt to a crisp."_

"_No place like home," Dean muttered, opening the trunk, "Alright, so take the EMF and a couple of other things. Scout around here and see what you can find but like I said, __**don't**__ go inside until we figure out what the hell we're dealing with."_

"_Yeah," Sam grabbed a book bag and a shotgun, "I'll call you if I find anything."_

"_Same here," Dean got back into the Impala and called out a quick 'be careful' before speeding out._

_The next two hours went by uneventfully. Dean found a town a half hour away and set to work on looking up the victims which had been killed in the fire; not surprisingly they were all between the ages of fifteen and twenty-three. Dean was just about to phone Sam up when his phone rang in his hand._

"_Sam, what do you got?" Dean asked right away._

"_Dean!" the background noise was loud, but Sam's voice still rung through, "Dean, the place is on fire!"_

"_What?!" Dean jumped up from his seat in a library, causing numerous people to look over, "What do you mean?"_

"_I mean flames Dean," Sam barked back, "Huge hot flames coming out of the damn house."_

"_Get away Sam!" Dean ordered as he bee-lined for his car, "Start going down the road leading away from the place!"_

_A loud scream could be heard in the background and Dean felt his blood run cold. He paused outside his car listening for any other sounds._

"_Sammy, say something," Dean ordered out._

"_Dean there's someone in there," Sam's voice sounded scared, "I gotta help him!"_

"_Sam no!" Dean's body moved in fast forward then as he got inside the Impala and started it up, "Don't go in Sam!"_

"_Someone is __**in**__ there!" Sam emphasized, "Dean, I have to save them! I can't let them die!"_

"_God…" Dean muttered slamming his foot on the gas peddle, "Sammy, no, don't--!"_

_Another loud scream echoed even louder followed by a click and a disconnection tone. Dean tried at least a dozen times to get a hold of Sam after that, though each time was immediately sent to voice mail. That didn't stop the Winchester from speeding the whole way there._

"Please Sam," Dean now pulled the car into the long driveway.

He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. Sam to be standing outside the house staring dumbly at it? Maybe the house really wasn't on fire? Maybe Sam had got the person safely outside of the house and they were now waiting for an ambulance? Either case, Dean just wanted his brother to be safe.

"Oh no," Dean slammed on the breaks as he saw the house completely engulfed in flames and no sign of Sam anywhere.

As if in a trance, Dean got out of the car, and could instantly feel the heat coming from the burning building. The quickly setting sun was offset miraculously by the bright orange flames licking into the sky.

"_Sammy!_" Dean screamed at the top of his lungs over the roar of the fire, "Sam, answer me!"

No answer came, and Dean stared wide-eyed at the burning place. Going on nothing more than brother instinct, and the need to keep Sam safe, Dean immediately grabbed a blanket and shotgun from the trunk of the car, and bolted into the house. The fire, thankfully, was contained to the second floor, and Dean prayed that wasn't where Sam was.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, "_Sammy!_"

"…Dean…" the distant voice caused Dean's blood to run cold.

Squinting through the smoke, Dean turned to his left where the voice had come from, and rushed through a door. There, barely conscious, Sam half laid on the ground.

The image of a man standing overtop him.

Immediately Dean dropped the blanket and pointed the gun at the spirit, "Let him go."

Sam coughed loudly from the smoke, and Dean could see fire licking down from the burning second floor. The spirit studied Dean for a moment before speaking.

"What do you want?"

Dean was momentarily stunned by this question, "What do you mean what do I want?! I want you to let my brother go!"

"You're saving him?" the spirit seemed confused and Dean had to lower his gun to cover his face from the thickening smoke.

"Yes, _please_," Dean begged, a cough wracking through his body.

Without warning the image of the man disappeared, and Sam's body slumped to the ground.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out once again grabbing the blanket and rushing to his brother.

Without wasting time he threw the blanket it over Sam and helped pull him to his feet. Sam remained limp and speechless as Dean carried most of his weight through the room and to the front of the house. The fire shot down on the brothers, and Dean attempted to further cover Sam up with the blanket as he burst through the front door and into the cool evening air.

"Sammy," Dean gasped as he slowly lowered his brother to the ground, "Sam…"

A small amount of relief swept through Dean as Sam didn't go flat to the ground, but instead stuck his arms out to stop the fall. Dean kneeled down in front of him and waited for a moment as his brother's wheezing breath became more clear.

"Sammy," Dean lifted Sam's head to look at him, "Are you alright?"

A loud cough came from Sam as he nodded his head.

"Can you talk?" Dean questioned seriously.

"I'm ok," Sam whispered out staring up at Dean, "You?"

Again Dean let out another breath he never even realized he was holding, "I'll be ok as long as you are."

Sam went more comfortably on the ground, letting the cool air wash through his lungs, "It was all a trick Dean."

Dean followed his brother's movements to the ground, and placed a sturdy hand on Sam's arm, "What do you mean?"

"It was never a demon," Sam spoke carefully as he looked at the still burning building, "It was a spirit. It lured me into the burning house, and I'm willing to bet that's what he did with the other six people."

"Why would it do that though?" Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head, "I don't know."

"Wait a second," Dean looked down at Sam, "Are you alright for a minute Sammy?"

Wordlessly Sam nodded, and Dean got up and ran to the car. His hands still shaking from the adrenaline, Dean yanked open the back door and grabbed the pile of papers that he had on each of the victims. Shifting through them, he met back with Sam on the cool evening grass.

"Ah ha," Dean triumphantly pulled out one of the papers and handed it to Sam, "This one here."

Sam took hold of the paper and glanced down at it, "Charlie Lark?"

"The first victim," Dean spoke what he'd memorized, "I was going to look more into it because it was a little weird; he died six years before the other victims who all died within a three year span. He was also the only victim that had a thorough history of the accident."

A smiled came to Sam's face, "So you're thinking he was the original person to die here. He's the spirit?"

"Bingo," Dean glanced once again up at the burning building, "But why the hell did he just let you go?"

"I think I know why," Sam looked up from the paper, "It says here that he was with three other people. They weren't sure how the fire started, but Charlie was trapped inside, shouting to his friends to save him. No one did."

"They just left the guy to burn?" Dean's eyes widened slightly.

"'_We were just too scared to run into the house,' one teen said, 'Charlie was screaming for help, but we were all too scared.'_," Sam quoted the article, "So I guess… he just kept recreating his death, and when you saved me… you did what no one else would."

Dean smiled, "I wasn't just going to let you die Sammy."

"Thanks," Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Dean pulled back a sniffle, "Well we know who's doing this, so we'll figure out where the guy was buried and take care of it in the morning."

Sam nodded, noting that the man had died from smoke inhalation, and not directly from the fire, so there'd still be a body to burn. Dean got to his feet then, lowering his hand to help Sam to his feet.

"You sure you're alright?" Dean questioned looking at his brother's red eyes and soot covered face.

"I'm ok," Sam insisted.

"Good," Dean gruffly responded as he worked his way back to the car.

Sam's hand grabbed Dean's arm before he could get to far, "And thanks Dean… really."

Dean just nodded in return, not trusting his voice as he made his was again back to the Impala. What Sam didn't seem to understand was that there wasn't nothing he wouldn't do to save Sam's life.

The End.


	65. Final Fight

_Disclaimer: These guys are about as much mine as you all missed me..._

_A/N: Boo!! Haha... yeah... I'm back!! My internet connection is stable for the time being, so you can all cheer and wipe away your tears. Though the lack of new stories from me has no doubt caused many sleepless nights for you all, you can be happy that the whole time I **have** been writing... so I got some stories! Yay! I was going to wait until tomorrow to post because I got something else for you all, but Windy Fontaine made me smile tonight when I was crying (don't bad days suck?), so I'm posting this tonight to show my, sniff-sniff, graditude. At least if I could spell gratitude I would...  
Anyways... with this story... a while ago I posted the story 'Devils Deal', of how I was thinking season three was gonna end. This story is on the same idea, except it's how I hope the whole series will end. Obviously I hope for it being many, many years down the line, but I had the idea and it ate away in my brain until I wrote it down. It's a first for me as it's a future fic, and I also have to put the same warning I've put before on some stories-- no matter what keep reading-- it's got a cool ending. So yeah... it's basically just a fun thing I wrote to try and bring back my awesome readers, and to shoot out another idea of what I hope could happen in this awesome show...  
Wow I talk a lot... enjoy!! _

* * *

_Title: Final Fight  
Genre: Really kindda suspensful, tragedy, angst... and that's it I think.  
Summary: How the world of Supernatural could end..._

Final Fight

Long since had their Dad gone missing while hunting a woman in white on Centennial Highway. It had been ages since their Dad then died at the hands of the now laughable Yellow Eyed Demon. If Sam thought hard enough, not that he ever wanted to, he could still remember when Dean told him about the deal to save his life; one that would ultimately end with Dean's death a year after the fact. It was such a long time ago that Sam had agreed to go to the dark side and 'work' for Lillith if Dean would be spared. Not long after that Ruby died at the hands of Sam, and Dean had a stand-off with his little brother. Dean hated to mention what happened next, though the memories were quickly fading as the present time pushed the history and memories back more and more. Dean shot Sam, Bella sacrificed herself for his soul, and Lillith fled. The brothers had hunted for years after that for the remaining demons on earth, though the fight was a loosing one as the tension between the Winchester's wore thin with time. The army of evil against good grew, though more and more hunters seemed to show themselves.

It was all going to come to and end now though.

The Winchester brothers were going to make sure of that.

"You boys are going to learn eventually," Lillith stood solidly back at the gates of hell from an eternity ago, "The more you struggle, the more it will hurt."

"You got that all wrong," Dean smirked, a trail of blood working its way down the side of his face with his recent encounter with the side of yet another gravestone, "Because you see, I'm sick of this. I'm sick of this whole war, I'm sick of fighting demons, and most of all, I'm sick of you."

"Why didn't you say so," Lillith's childish face scrunched up, "The only reason I've kept you guys around this long is because you entertain me."

"What do you mean?" Sam spoke up from beside Dean.

"Do you honestly think that you're alive right now because you've got away from me?" Lillith laughed, "Come on-- I could have got rid of you that night at the sheriff's office, but this has been more fun. I love watching the different ways you save each other and the holes you dig while doing so. Did you know you've screwed yourselves over more times _saving_ each other than killing us bad guys?"

Sam pulled out the colt from the back rim of his pants, "This is going to end today."

"You're right. It is." Lillith nodded, "But not by you, and not by that little BB gun."

Without hesitating, Sam cocked the gun, and shot a single bullet directly in the center of Lillith's head. Without even flinching, the white eyed demon stood her ground and stared solemnly at the younger Winchester.

"Oh crap…" Dean whispered.

"Now _why_ would you go and do something like that?" anger bubbled up in Lillith, "You know what's going to happen now."

Sam breathed hard, "…what are you?"

"A _lot_ stronger than you," Lillith placed a hand where the bullet had gone through, "And now thanks to your little stunt, I'm going to have to prove it by killing you."

"_No!_" Dean suddenly shouted, taking a giant step in front of his little brother, "No, ok? Just… everybody chill."

"See what I mean Dean?" Lillith raised her eyebrows, "Now how many years has it been, and you still haven't figured out that the only thing that happens when you stop little Sammy from biting the big one, is that it makes it all the harder to go through the next time."

"We'll go," Dean eagerly suggested, "We'll just leave, and you can do whatever it is you do…"

"No," Lillith shook her head, "I'm sorry Dean, but like Sam said, this has to end today."

A heart stopping gasp suddenly came from behind Dean, and the hunter swiveled around to see Sam's eyes wide, and a small trickle of blood coming out of his mouth.

"No! Sammy!" Dean screamed as his brother collapsed to the ground.

Upon further inspection, blood came from the front of Sam's shirt and quickly pooled around his body in a thick mass of crimson. Dean grabbed Sam's head to try and support him, but he could already feel the dead weight in his hands.

"_Sammy!_" Dean cried, "No, Sam! No… no…" frantically Dean turned to Lillith, "Stop it, please!"

"He's gone Winchester," Lillith spoke deadpan, "Begging won't do anything but make this better for me."

"You _bitch!_" Dean roared getting up and lunging towards the demon.

With a lazy hand, Lillith stopped Dean from getting close enough to do any damage, "You're lucky I didn't kill him when he turned against me."

"Lucky?" Dean breathed, tears freely coming down his face as he refused to look at the body of Sam, "You call that lucky?! I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch!"

"Don't fool yourself Dean," Lillith almost looked sad, "This was never about you, and never about Sam. This was all much bigger than that."

"Why?" Dean's lower lip trembled like a five year old, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you have to learn!" Lillith closed her eyes in frustration, "People on this earth have to learn that you can't have good without evil. And the more you try and stop us, the more we'll fight back."

Dean stared at the demon that had just taken the last thing he cared about away from him. Speechless, Dean wished he could simply lay down on the ground, close his eyes, and be done with everything. To just disappear to a world where there was no evil… or hell, at least where he didn't know about it.

"Are you having fun Lillith?"

A sudden, oddly familiar voice spoke up, and Dean looked up to see the Trickster from so many years ago standing a few feet from the demon. On the contrary to how the white eyed girl had been smirking and mocking Dean, she now looked almost terrified towards the Trickster.

"You," she spoke softly, "We had a deal."

"Of course we did," the Trickster laughed, "I have deals all over the place, but this… this is the one that's bugging me right now."

"You have nothing to do with this," Lillith spoke threateningly.

"On the contrary, I have very much everything to do with this," the Trickster casually pulled out a candy bar from his pocket and began to unwrap it, "The Winchester's and I go back a long ways. Don't we Dean?"

"What are you doing?" Dean whispered from his position now half collapsed on the ground.

"They're not exactly the brightest bunch," the Trickster took a large bite of chocolate, "But they've always meant well. And I hate to see it suddenly end with a power trip from _you_ Lillith."

"Don't," Lillith shook her head, "I've almost won! I almost have exactly what I need. All I have to do is get rid of these hunters."

"I can do that for you," the Trickster nodded and turned to Dean, "What would you do different?"

"Wha-- what?" Dean breathed, his eyes watching what was happening before him.

"Would you change being a hunter?" the Trickster asked, "Would you have rather lived an apple-pie life with white picket fences and rose bushes?"

Dean swallowed hard, "I've lost everything. I have nothing left."

"Nice commentary, but a little off topic," the Trickster rolled his eyes, "Now just answer… would you have rather lived an ignorant life where dead Sammy here grows up to be a lawyer with a wife and two and a half kids?"

Flashbacks of his time with the djinn rolled in Dean's mind as he whispered, "Sammy and I didn't get along…"

"That's right."

"But…" Dean dared a glance as his dead brother, "…he lives."

"Bingo."

"Then yes," Dean answered firmly.

The Trickster smiled as Lillith's eyes widened in fear.

"You know," the Trickster spoke sincerely, taking another bite of his candy, "You Winchester's are something else…"

Mary opened up the nursery door, holding onto four year old Dean in her arms, "Come on, lets say good-night to your brother."

With a grin Dean walked over to the crib and stood up on the small stool that his parents had set up just for him and looked down at Sam, "Night Sam."

Mary walked up beside Dean and placed a loving hand on his back while cooing into the crib, "Goodnight Love."

She kissed her youngest boy on the cheek.

"Hey Dean," Dean turned around and saw his Dad standing in the doorway.

"Daddy!" Dean squealed, grinning as he ran over to his Dad who immediately scooped him into his strong arms.

"Hey Buddy, aww" John smiled, "So what do you think, think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"

Dean shook his head, "No Daddy."

John laughed, "No."

Mary smiled at her husband and son as she walked by, "You got him?"

John smiled, "I got him." For a moment he held onto Dean in a tight embrace while lovingly rubbing his back, "Sweet dreams Sam."

Still holding onto Dean, John took one last look towards Sam laying in his crib before turning off the light and gently closing the door. Walking to a room just down the hall, John put an almost asleep Dean into his bed and went downstairs to join his wife in an evening of relaxation. The evening soon turned to night as the Winchester parents went to sleep. Soon, though, Mary was awoken by the baby monitor beside her bed going off with the soft sound of Sam crying.

Groggily, Mary turned on the bedside light, "John?"

Looking over at the place of her missing husband, Mary slowly got up and walked down the hall to her youngest son's room where she saw the back of a person standing over the crib.

"John, is he hungry?" Mary question squinting into the room through her sleep-filled eyes.

"Shhh," the person whispered, "…come here."

Curiously Mary walked into the room and over to the crib. Looking beside her she smiled at the look on her husband's face as he watched a once again sleeping Sammy.

"What is it John?" Mary placed a loving hand on his back.

"He went back to sleep," John smiled, "Without out any help, he went back to sleep."

Mary leaned in against her husband as she stared down at Sam, "He's growing up. Soon he'll be living on his own, and won't even need us."

John detected the sadness in Mary's voice as he leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek, "Our boys will always need us."

The End.


	66. Rabies

_Disclaimer: wow, I forgot how hard it was to find cool ways to say no_

_A/N: Hi y'all! Thanks so much for the awesome reviews for that last story, and the welcome backs. It's great to be back! So... wow... haha, don't you love my stories where there's some small thing in it that pertains to my real life where I tell a little back-story and you all get to laugh and point at your comptuer screens? This story has a moment like that. Many of you may remember my story 'Cold' where I told you of the idiotic thing I did with getting hypothermia. Well my sickness went on from there. Haha... less than a week after that my temprature spiked to about 103F. I got a nasty flu, and then before I even got time to get over that, I got both bronchitis and tonsilitis at the same fricken time. Haha... I was sick for close to a month. I think I wrote this story at the heart of my bronchitis thing, which is why I gave it to one of our favorite brothers. Ok, ok... that's enough me-story time... I'll leave you to the people we all know you came here to read about.  
Oh right, two quick things... one is that I didn't quite finish what I was going to give you all, so I'll tell you now, and you'll get it at some point tomorrow. I'm going to end up posting another chapter of 'A Windy Story' for you all to enjoy! Another thing... it has to do with this story. I read it over and realized that some of you might frown on the fact that Dean has himself simply as a 'friend' to Sam, and not family member. My basic justification to this is that they went into the hospital thinking he was there for just a simple chest cold or something, so they didn't figure they'd need to worry about any 'family confidentiality' stuff. So yeah... I hope you enjoy! Thanks again!  
(oh, another ps... i'm also accepting to try and be a beta reader... so if any of you want me to help you at all, just give me an email!) _

* * *

_Title: Rabies  
Genre: Angsty and suspense! Alright, and some fluff.  
Summary: Sam goes to the doctor with what is thought to be a simple chest cold, but it soon turns into a life threatening evening at the hospital..._

Rabies

"I'm sorry Sir, you can't see him," the nurse in lilac scrubs spoke bluntly. 

A small flitter erupted in Dean's stomach, "What do you mean I can't see him?"

The nurse sighed, "It says on this sheet here that you are his… friend?"

"Yes," Dean nodded at the lie he'd written, "Yes, we've been best friends since grade school. Why can't I see him? What's wrong with him?"

"Sam is not your family," the nurse proceeded to explain dully, "I cannot let non-family members visit in the critical ward, nor can I let you know anything about his condition."

Dean's eyes widened, "The critical ward! What the hell is going on lady? I brought him in here because he had a bad cough and was having a little trouble breathing. We thought it might be bronchitis or pneumonia or something. Why the hell is he in critical ward?"

"I'm sorry, I can't--"

"--answer me," Dean finished in anger as he turned on his heel and stormed over to the waiting area.

It was true that the only reason Dean had brought Sam into the hospital was because he had a bad cough that was making it hard for the hunter to breath. Sam had brushed it off as a bad cold, but it had been Dean who insisted on a doctor visit on their way out of town, pointing out that if he got a prescription for some antibiotics, they could get some extra to keep in stock. He was beginning to regret this decision now as it had been nearly two hours since Sam went behind the large swinging doors, and he knew nothing. Another half an hour ticked by, and Dean was just beginning to form a plan in his head as to how to sneak into the area when a doctor came out in a white coat and called for a 'Dean Willington'.

"That's me," Dean was to his feet in seconds, and by the doctors side, "What's going on?"

The doctor looked down at a piece of paper, "I see here that you are not family…"

"_Please_," Dean found himself begging, "I'm the only person he's got right now. Please tell me what's wrong."

The doctor nodded, "I'm Doctor Maxwell. I need to ask you a few questions. Have you been with Sam for the past few weeks to a month?"

Dean nodded, "Yes. We-we're roommates."

"Alright," again Doctor Maxwell nodded, "Are you aware of Sam getting any bites at all? Did he say anything about maybe being attacked or bit by a dog or wild animal?"

Dean thought about this, "I don't think so… why? What's wrong?"

A saddened look came across the doctor's face, "We're testing him for rabies right now."

Dean could feel the color drain from his face as he let out a disbelieving laugh, "You… you're kidding right?"

"I'm sorry," Doctor Maxwell looked sympathetically at Dean, "He's showing signs of the disease, and we have found what looks to be an infected bite on his upper calf."

Dean's breath came out in a gasp, "I want to see him."

Doctor Maxwell shook his head, "I'm sorry-- that's not possible. Your friend is being quarantined until we know for sure."

"No, no," Dean shook his head, his heartbeat quickening, "You guys are wrong. Rabies-- you don't get that here."

"On the contrary Mr. Willington, you can get the disease anywhere," Doctor Maxwell explained, "It is contracted through the saliva of an infected animal. Now usually here in the US, people are protected against the virus, and there aren't too many infected animals around. But on rare occasions, it does happen."

"But, it--" Dean swallowed hard, his head spinning, "You can… if he does have it… you can help him?"

Solemnly Doctor Maxwell shook his head, "I'm sorry. At this stage the disease will have already taken over his body. It is a universally fatal disease." 

Dean felt tears burn at his eyes, but refused to let them fall. For what seemed like forever he stared at the doctor as the words and information sunk in. He would pay anything to go back in time five minutes and be once again simply waiting in the waiting room.

"How-- how long until you know for sure?" Dean whispered out.

"We've done one, initial test," Doctor Maxwell spoke carefully, noting Dean's quickly deteriorating state, "That test came back positive. Right now we're running more conclusive tests. Mr. Wellington is there any family that you can get a hold of for him?"

"N-No," Dean stuttered out.

"Alright," Doctor Maxwell placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, "Right now I suggest that you just sit down and try to relax. We'll know for sure if our suspicions are correct in about an hour, and at that point I can discuss with you some of the options for Sam."

Numbly Dean nodded his head and walked back to one of the chairs without hearing anymore. The hour was getting to be late, and so there was only one other person in the waiting room holding onto a small boy in her arms. The boy was wrapped up in a blanket and Dean could see his pink cheeks from his position on the other side of the room. For the next hour Dean sat in the waiting room, feeling his heart rate quickening with each passing minute. Twice he was forced to get up and get sick in the bathroom. The doctor had told Dean that there was an infected bite on Sam's leg, and the older brother screamed at himself for not having noticed.

"Why Sammy," a small tear fell down Dean's rough face, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean had always protected Sam his whole life, but it was the times when Sam would hide things that would scare Dean the most. Dean remembered when Sam when was in high school, and a group of kids were bullying him. Sam hadn't told Dean until it had got to the point where Sam broke his arm. Now, Dean supposed, was worse.

Much worse.

"Mr. Wellington?" the hour had crept by, taking extra minutes with it and Dean now looked over to see Doctor Maxwell once again standing at the entrance to the waiting room.

"Yes," Dean breathed, jumping to his feet and making it to the doctor in one long stride.

"Can I talk to you," the doctor kept a straight face as Dean nodded and he lead him into a small separate room a small ways down the hall.

"What's happening?" Dean choked out staring intently at the man in front of him.

A smile spread to the doctors face, "We've performed two more tests on Sam, and we have concluded that he does not have the rabies disease."

Dean's hand flew to his mouth as he muttered out a relieved, "Oh, thank God."

Doctor Maxwell nodded, "He does, however, have a case of blood poisoning _and_ bronchitis. Which means he's not out of the woods yet, but it is very treatable, and I have every reason to believe that he'll be back to full health in no time."

"C-Can I see him?" Dean stuttered out, "Please, can I see Sam?"

The doctor looked at his watch, "It's past visiting hours, but… you can see him for a little bit tonight. After that, he does need his rest."

Dean nodded and followed Doctor Maxwell's quick pace down the corridor. They made it to a room, and Doctor Maxwell motion to Dean that it was the right one. Swallowing hard, Dean walked inside and let out a breath he never even realized he was holding as he saw Sam sitting up in the bed with a simple oxygen tube inserted into his nose.

"Dean," a large smile spread to Sam's face.

Dean scrunched up his forehead, "…Sammy…"

In one swift, silent movement, Dean crossed the room and grabbed his little brother in a tight hug. A shaking breath came from Dean as he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears which once again threatened to take over him. Sam squeezed back in the embrace before finally the two brothers separated. Looking at Sam, Dean washed his hand over his face in a vane attempt to get rid of his overflowing emotions.

"Are you ok?" Dean finally asked, his voice hoarse.

Sam smiled through select tears which crawled down his face, "I'm going to be fine."

Dean laughed, "Dude, you scared the holy hell out of me."

"I'm sorry," Sam breathed deep, "I-I didn't realize it was this bad."

"They told me they thought you had rabies!" Dean cried out, "They said… they said you could die Sam…"

"I know," Sam nodded, "That's what they told me too. They said there was nothing they could do if the tests came back positive. I just… I wanted to see you, but they wouldn't let me."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there Sammy," Dean whispered sitting sideways on the hospital bed, "I wanted to be-- trust me."

"I know," Sam took another deep breath, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears from his face.

Something occurred to Dean suddenly, "The doctor said that you had a bite mark on your leg, and that's what caused an infection. I don't remember you getting bit…"

"Oh," Sam pulled up the sheet to reveal a bandage on the lower half of his right leg, "Yeah… it happened about three weeks ago. It was from when we were being chased by those stupid coyotes in the woods in north Michigan. I didn't think anything of it."

"You should have told me Sam," Dean shook his head, "You should know better! When one of us gets hurt, the other needs to know because--"

"Not now Dean," Sam interrupted in a whispered, "Please… not now."

Dean placed a hand on Sam's leg, "Sorry man… I just. If I lost you…"

A small smile touched Sam's mouth as he looked down at his hands, "I'm not going anywhere Dean… I promise."

The End.


	67. Without You

_Disclaimer: before i go to bed, you have to give me a way to say no for my disclaimer. no god damn it! gotch'a. _

_A/N: Hi again! The first thing I'm going to do is apologize... for a few things. One is the lack of an update on the chapter story, and two is for anything stupid I end up saying tonight. I had such a hard time sleeping last night, and have been up now for over 36 hours. Before going to my bed to try and crash though, I knew I should post something for you guys. This story, like the last one, doesn't have anything to do with something supernatural, but it is pretty good. I've started and am nearly halfway done a very supernatural story though which I'll hope to post to you all tomorrow.  
Ok, one last thing before I leave you to enjoy... I am coming up to my 600th review (thank you guys SOOOO much!), and as a little something to the person who gives me my 600th review... I want anyone who reviews to this one shot to leave their name in the review. I'm going to make a one shot with the name of whoever gives my 600th review as one of the main characters to work with (haha, or against?) our very favorite brothers. Well... read on and enjoy!  
(sorry guys... i've had to re-post this three times now in the last ten minutes... this story is being a little jerk)_

* * *

_Title: Without You  
Genre: Angst and fluff... and is sad a genre? Haha...  
Summary: WeeChester! After Dean forgets to pick up Sam from school, the younger Winchester decides to try and walk. The rain slick roads are too much for a car though, and twelve year old Sam soon wakes up in the ER. Alone._

Without You

Dean had promised to be there. Promised to pick Sam up from school at exactly four-thirty. He always came then to let Sam have an hour inside the library to study or just chat with friends. But at four-thirty Dean Winchester promised to be there to pick up his twelve year old brother. 

He wasn't.

"Come on Dean," Sam sighed as a light drizzle started to fall down on his head.

The doors leading back into the school were locked or else Sam would have wandered back inside to seek refuge from the quickly dimming weather. Sighing, Sam looked each way and then down at his watch. It was five after five, and Sam knew that Dean had forgotten to pick him up. Ever since Dean had turned seventeen, Sam had been teasing him that he was getting forgetful in his old age, and now the younger brother wondered if those words were maybe true.

"Fine," Sam huffed, "I'll just walk home. But Dad is going to hear about this one."

The walk back to their small rental house was nearly four miles, a distance which Sam usually had driven by either his Dad or brother. The odd time he'd walk it if he felt like getting some exercise, but with a loud crack of thunder echoing in the sky, Sam realized he really didn't want to be walking today.

The first many blocks went by quickly as Sam walked fast in order to hopefully beat the downpour home. It was when another loud crack of thunder erupted out and rain began to fall in buckets that Sam slowed his pace. He was drenched in seconds, and figured that the only thing that walking faster would do, would wear him out. Coming to a usually slow intersection, Sam glanced both ways before quickly heading across.

He never even saw the blue car coming at him until it was too late.

The vehicle tried to stop for the stop sign, but the tires were useless against the rain slicked road, and the next thing Sam remembered was intense pain radiating through his entire right side, and then the bizarre feeling of being air born. With a solid thump, the preteen landed hard on the pavement nearly ten feet away from the car.

Sam tried to hold onto consciousness. A man cried out. Rain splattered against his blood soaked face. Someone placed a hand against his arm.

Then nothing…

-§-

The next thing Sam was aware of was laying down, and a bright light being above him. Numerous people were talking, but the words didn't make sense, and Sam wished people would just be quiet. His head pounded with every piece of noise, and with that came a sharp pain radiating up his right arm. 

"Can you hear me?" a voice that made sense squeezed through Sam's brain as a person looked down on him.

Sam tried to move his head to nod, but found that something was stopping his neck from being able to move at all. Panic filled his body and immediately he felt his heart beat quicken inside his chest, and his breathing become more labored.

"Just calm down," the voice of the man was comforting, "You're in the hospital, and have a neck brace on. Don't try and move your head, just answer yes or no if you can. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," Sam stuttered out.

"Good," the man nodded, "My name is Doctor Phillips. But you can call me plain old Phil, alright?"

"Yes."

"Perfect," Dr. Phil nodded, "Can you tell me your name?"

"My head hurts," Sam whispered out, tears creeping down his face.

"Everything's going to be ok," Dr. Phil placed a hand on Sam's chest, "We're going to fix you up. Do you remember what happened?"

"A-A car?" Sam spoke in the form of a question.

"That's right, you were hit by a car," Dr. Phil turned towards one of the medics there and spoke quickly about talking to the police, "Now I need you to try and remember your name, or maybe your Mom or Dad's?"

"M-My brother," Sam felt his whole body begin to shake, "He-he left me."

"What's your brother's name?" Dr. Phil asked as he worked slowly on cutting away Sam's blood soaked shirt from his body.

More tears came down Sam's face now, "…I don't know."

"It's alright, everything's going to be ok," Dr. Phil smiled, "How about we call you Sport until we find out your name, ok?"

"Ok," Sam's voice went back to a whisper.

"Alright, Sport, I'm going to give you something now that will make you sleepy," Dr. Phil took a needle from one of the nurses beside him, "But don't worry, ok? I'll be here when you wake up."

"O-Ok."

When Sam awoke next, his entire body felt numb. He was laying on something more comfortable now, and the lights weren't quite so bright. As he woke more fully, a dull thump bounced in his head in time with his heart beat, and he couldn't move his right arm. His eyes widening, Sam looked around at his surroundings. There was several beds in the large room, each one separated from the next by tall curtains. A low hum of conversation came from the other beds as people surrounded the subjects. Tears burned in Sam's eyes as he noticed no one was there with him.

"Dad…" Sam whispered out, the tears giving way down his bruised face, "…Dad!"

Almost instantly a nurse in lilac scrubs walked up to Sam with a smile on her face, "Hi there buddy. You're awake."

"My Dad," Sam was full on crying now, "Please… I want to see my Dad."

"I'll be right back," the nurse spoke like she was talking to a three year old, "I'll see what's going on."

Sam remained laying in the bed, sobbing as he frantically looked around for any sign of anything familiar. His head began to hurt more along with his arm and side. Just as the Winchester was about to try and get up and look around, the familiar face of Dr. Phil came into Sam's secluded part of the recovery ward.

"Hey Sport, how are you feeling?" he asked walking to Sam, already knowing the answer, "Do you remember who I am?"

Sam's lower lip trembled as he spoke, "P-Phil."

"That's great," Dr. Phil opened Sam's eyes up one at a time, and shinned a light into them.

"My Dad, please," Sam begged, "Please, I want to see my Dad."

Dr. Phil looked down at Sam, "Do you know his name Sport? Or your name? Either will help me get your Dad to you."

Sam thought about this a moment, and spoke quietly, "…my name is Sam."

"Sam," Dr. Phil grinned, "It's nice to meet you Sam. Can you remember your last name, or your phone number?"

Sam breathed through the growing pain in his body, "Umm… W-Winchester. My name is Sam Winchester. Dad's name is John. Please, can you get him."

"Sure thing," Dr. Phil nodded his head, "I'll get one of my friends to call him up right away. First I just need to ask you a few more questions, ok? See how bad you knocked that noggin of yours."

"Ok," silent tears remained falling down Sam's cheeks.

"Do you remember what happened?" Dr. Phil asked the same question as in the ER.

"I was hit by a car," Sam's voice sounded small as he answered this.

"Ok," Dr. Phil nodded, "Do you know what town you're in?"

"Umm," Sam struggled for a moment to think of the answer, "R-Rivergrove North Carolina."

"Excellent," Dr. Phil nodded, "Now you spoke of a brother in the ER. Do you remember him?"

Sam's eyes widened as more tears came down his face, "D-Dean… he left me…"

"Left you?"

Sam nodded, "Dean was s-supposed to pick me up from school. But he didn't. H-He left me, so I tried walking home. D-Dean must h-have been mad-mad at me…"

Sam's whole body shook, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the thoughts passed through his head. Sam knew that he pissed off his brother a lot. Hell, he did it intentionally sometimes just to reinstate his roll as little brother. Frantically Sam tried to remember what he had done to make him mad this time, and made a mental note to apologize for anything he had done.

"No Sam," Dr. Phil spoke softly, "I don't think your brother was mad at you. He probably just forgot."

"No," Sam whispered, "No… this is my fault… he was mad at me."

Dr. Phil smiled, "How old is your brother Sam?"

"S-Seventeen," Sam's lip trembled some more.

"Alright," Dr. Phil placed a comforting hand on Sam's leg, "At that age all they ever talk about is girls, isn't it?"

A small smile touched Sam's lips at the truth, "Y-Yeah."

"Then I bet," Dr. Phil spoke confidently, "That your brother was caught up with a girl. I bet he forgot about picking you up, and right now is really sorry, and really upset that he forgot."

"I-It's not my fault?" Sam questioned.

"Of course not," Dr. Phil shook his head, "It was all just an accident, and nobodies fault. Now, before I go get a hold of your Dad, does your head still hurt right now?"

Sam nodded.

"Ok," Dr. Phil marked some things down on Sam's chart, "I'm going to get the nurse to give you something. It'll make you tired, so you'll probably go to sleep again. But when you wake up, I'll bet you'll feel much better, and I even bet your Dad will be here."

"Thank you," Sam whispered out.

True to what Dr. Phil said, a nurse came in and put something into Sam's IV line. Minutes later the twelve year old fell asleep again. Though it appeared on the outside that he was sleeping soundly, on the inside Sam tossed and turned as his dreams twisted the accident horribly. Suddenly it was Dean who was driving the car that hit him, and all he could do was laugh, saying that Sam deserved it. By the time Sam once again began to wake up, his mind had almost once again fully convinced itself that it was Sam's fault and that Dean was mad. That was why Dean had left him.

"…Sammy…"

A voice that sounded scared and yet comforting at the same time leaked into Sam's semiconscious state. He felt someone brush their hand across his face lightly, and push back some hair that had fallen overtop.

"Hey Sammy… it's Dad… can you wake up for me buddy?"

_Dad!_

Sam forced his tired eyes open, and looked over to the face of his Dad. John smiled at his son, his face seeming to have aged ten years since the last time Sam had seen him. Getting up from his chair beside Sam, John sat down on the edge of the bed by Sam.

"Hey Sammy," once again John brushed his hand across Sam's bruised face, "How are you?"

"I was scared Dad," Sam whispered out, tears once again threatening to escape.

"Shh, it's ok," John leaned down and rested his forehead against Sam's, "I'm here… it's ok."

With a small sob, Sam swung his left arm around his Dad and held onto him tight in a half hug. Ignoring any pain that pulsed through his body, Sam breathed in the smell of his Dad's leather jacket and aftershave.

Finally John moved back, "Everything's alright Sammy…"

"It hurt Dad," Sam forced himself to stay calm.

"I know," John kept one hand firmly around Sam's left hand, "The doctor said that you bumped your head pretty hard, and they had to do a little bit of surgery to fix your arm. But you'll be ok. You just need to rest. You'll stay here in the hospital for a couple of days."

At that Sam looked around and saw that he had been moved into a smaller, more private room. He also noticed that Dean was nowhere in sight, which brought a cold feeling to the young hunter's stomach.

"Dean," Sam spoke softly, "W-Where's Dean?"

"He went to get a drink from the cafeteria," John explained, "Do you want me to go get him?"

Sam sadly shook his head, "No… he's mad at me."

John's face scrunched up, "He's not mad at you Sammy, he's worried about you right now. Why would think he was mad?"

"He left me," Sam choked on his own words, "I made him mad, and that's why he left me at the school."

John felt heartsick at his son's words, "No… no Sam. Listen to me. Nobody in this family will ever be left alone just because someone is mad at them. _Ever_. Understand?"

Wordlessly Sam nodded. John squeezed Sam's hand affectionately and smiled down at his youngest son. Slowly the elder man let his heartbeat return to a somewhat normal pace. He wasn't sure what was worse; the hours not knowing where Sam was, or finally finding out where he actually was. It was over now though; the doctor had said that with time Sam would be at full health again.

"Sammy…" a voice at the door snapped John back to reality and he looked over to see Dean standing awkwardly by the door.

With a smile on his face, John got up and looked down at Sam, "Hey Sammy, I'm going to go grab a bite. I'll be back ok?"

Sam nodded as John turned and walked to the door. With a reassuring grin, John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and patted it reassuringly. His face scrunched up in emotions, Dean walked over to Sam's bed.

"I'm so sorry Sammy…" a small tear rolled down Dean's face as he looked at his bruised and battered brother.

Sam shook his head, tears falling at the sight of his brother's emotions, "It wasn't your fault Dean. I should have waited."

Dean sat at the spot that John had once been sitting at on the bed, "Are you alright Sam?"

"It hurts," Sam admitted before quickly putting in, "But not that bad."

Dean smiled, "Liar."

"…I'm really sorry Dean," Sam then whispered out, "For making you mad."

"I wasn't mad at you," Dean pulled back some hair from around the bandage on Sam's forehead, "You could… you could never make me mad at you enough to break a promise to you. Sammy… I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me," Dean washed his hand down his face, "I-I really screwed up this time."

"No Dean!" Sam cried out, "Please don't feel bad. Don't… please."

"I got you hurt Sammy…" Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat, "…I wasn't there."

"No Dean," Sam sobbed out, "Please don't blame yourself. Phil said it was just an accident. It was nobodies fault."

Dean stared down at his hands, and mumbled out, "You forgive me then for not being there to pick you up?"

"Of course Dean!" Sam smiled, happy just that Dean wasn't mad at him, and wishing he could hug him, "But… just out of curiosity… why didn't you show up?"

Dean blushed slightly as he looked up at his little brother, "There was this really… 'busty' person who was working at the store downtown…"

The End.


	68. Spaghetti O’s

_Disclaimer: 68... I have said no 68 times... damn I'm cool._

_A/N: My school sucks. Or at least the connection. It was all crappy last night, so I didn't get to post anything-- sorry. Tonight though, I have a small drabble that Windy Fontaine challenged me to during a writers block many, many ions ago. The longer one shot I'm still working kinks out of, but I don't see why it won't be out by tomorrow. Anyways-- I want to also say a very big **Thank You!** to everyone-- I've hit over 600 reviews which is completely insane, and awesome at the same time. I can't thank you all enough for your support through all of this-- I'm having a blast! The 'winner' of the 600th review was Colby's Girl (aww... sorry Michele), so I'm going to use her name in an upcoming story. Thank you all again for your reviews, and I hope you enjoy this very small drabble! _

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_Title: Spaghetti-O's  
Genre: Haha, basically humor.  
Summary: Poor Dean... usually when something's on sale, there's a reason for it. --A drabble challenge for 250 words that had to have the line: 'But I like Spaghetti-O's' in it..._

Spaghetti-O's

Sam stood outside the bathroom door and listened to Dean get sick for the umpteenth time. Sam felt bad for him, but had to smirk; it was Dean's own fault.

"Guess we know why that stuff was on sale huh?" Sam grinned as he heard Dean flush.

"Shut up Sam," Dean breathed stepping into the door frame.

Sam studied him a moment. Dean's hair was askew, his face pale, and small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. It had started after Dean picked up and ate one of his proud purchases of two cans of Spaghetti-O's that had been on sale.

"If I ask you seriously how you're doing, you'll just give me a sarcastic reply, won't you?" Sam frowned as Dean moved towards the bed.

"Probably."

Sam shook his head with a small smile on his face, "Do you want to stay here, or keep moving?"

"Lets move," Dean groaned as he got to his feet, "I can sleep in the car."

Sam agreed, knowing that the type of food poisoning Dean had wouldn't last long. Letting his brother get a few moments rest, Sam put the stuff in the car. When he came back into the hotel room, he found Dean shoving some things into a bag at the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing?" Sam frowned.

"Sustenance," Dean supplied simply.

"Dude, don't bring the other can of that stuff!"

Dean looked indignantly at Sam as he walked by, "But I like Spaghetti-O's!"

The End.


	69. Ghost Ship

_Disclaimer: Ally says no..._

A/N: Wow, it's late. Haha... ok, so not too late-- about 1:45am only. Today's delay is brought to you by the namesake of my profile person; my beautiful and rambunctious neice. I went back to my parents place for the long weekend to not only be greated with some of my brothers, but also a two and a half year old Ally. But, on the plus side, I did e-mail myself both A Windy Story and this one shot to finish up, and through chasing after Ally, bathing her and making sure she doesn't stick her fingers where they're not supposed to go, I managed to finish off this one shot. It's a longer one, so I hope you all enjoy it! Ally goes back home tomorrow, so I'll see if I can get that damn chapter of A Windy Story up for you. Until then-- enjoy!

* * *

Title: Ghost Ship  
Genre: Kindda horror, and supernatural... and if you squint, some humor.  
Summary: Dean figured that the hunt that envolved a cruise ship, hot girls and alcohol would be great. What he didn't realize that the six people who had gone missing in the past month had been recruited for something far from great. And the Winchester's were next in line...

Ghost Ship

"Now _this_ is my kind of job," Dean grinned pulling down his sunglasses to cover his green eyes.

Sam smiled, "Dude, just because we're taking a case on a cruise ship doesn't mean that you get to stare at all the girls the whole time while I do the work." 

"I don't stare," Dean spoke as he watched a woman in a tank top and mini skirt walk by, "I admire."

"Six people have gone on this ship in the past month that haven't gone off," Sam said in a significantly quieter voice, "Admire from afar."

Dean frowned, "Some day I'll teach you how to have fun Sammy."

"And some day I'll teach you my _real_ name," Sam shot back, "Come on-- lets go drop the bags off in our room."

After having endured two more gay assumptions, Sam and Dean had managed to book a small room on the lower deck that could hold little more than the two single sized beds inside. The case had been a last minute find, and so the brother's new they were lucky to even get a place on board the luxury cruise ship. Most of the people that were onboard fell into one of three categories; newly weds, retirees and seeking singles. It was the later that Dean eagerly wanted to chat it up with, but reluctantly had to agree with Sam on the fact that the case would come first.

"It's a three day cruise," Dean pointed out as he took off his sunglasses and Sam unlocked their room, "So we can figure out what's happening tonight, and then spend two days… relaxing."

"Two minutes Dean," Sam turned to his brother deadpan, "Give me two minutes of conversation with you without having to picture you doing--"

"It is _so_ important to your health that you don't finish that sentence," Dean interrupted as he moved past Sam into the cabin.

Sam grinned as he plopped his bag down onto the bed, "Ok… so I know we couldn't bring much because of security, but what did you manage to get?"

"Uhh," Dean unzipped his own bag and stared at the contents as Sam closed the door, "Some holy water, exorcism books, and a pocket knife. What about you?"

Sam looked into his own bag, "Basically the same, though I grabbed some blessed beads and Dad's journal," the young hunter sighed, "I wish we had a better weapon though."

"Well…" Dean cleared his throat nervously as he stuck his hand into the back rim of his pants and pulled out a pistol to show Sam.

"What?!" Sam cried out before hissing, "You brought a gun onto the boat?"

"I feel naked without it Sam, you know that," Dean attempted to justify.

"What if there had been a metal detector?" Sam countered, "What would you have said when they had you pinned against the ground reading you your rights?"

"Oops?" Dean grinned innocently.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, "…honestly Dean…"

"Hey, we got a weapon now!" Dean defended, "We have a better chance of getting rid of whatever is on this thing if we have something that can hurt it."

Reluctantly Sam agreed, "Yeah… you're right. It was still stupid though." He paused, "What kind of bullets did you bring for it?"

Dean unzipped another pocket on his bag, "About a half dozen silver bullets, case of 44, and three rock filled capsules," Dean looked up to see Sam's impressed look, "_See_, I'm taking this thing seriously."

"Or you just like to shoot things," Sam teased, "Come on, lets go up on deck and look around."

"Now_ there's_ an idea," Dean flipped back down his sunglasses and followed his brother out the room.

Almost immediately after getting outside of the cabin, Dean noticed the massive amount of people walking around and talking. No wonder a large fuss wasn't being made by only six people missing. Mentally Dean began to rate the girls as they walked along the corridor while Sam talked more on the case.

"There's been three women, and three guys, so whatever this is, isn't choosing that way," Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

A blonde haired woman in tiny red shorts and a halter top walked by the brothers, giving a prolonged look at the elder.

'_Nine. Definitely a nine._' 

"The age groups are about the same though," Sam continued on, "Every one of them was in their early to mid twenties."

A lady that looked as if she could loose about thirty pounds and possibly had a mustache walked by in an all too revealing bathing suit.

'_Oh God, is that a dude?_'

"I figure we can look around a bit on deck, and maybe ask some of the people who have been working if they noticed anything," Sam was oblivious to Dean's game.

At that moment a lady with long wavy red hair walked down the hall. Her eyes sparkled green eyes and her slim stature bore a dark blue bikini top and a pleated white skirt.

'_Wow… nine…_' Dean swung around as he watched her walk away, '_ten… definitely a ten…_

"Dean!" Sam barked out as they made it to the deck, "Have you been listening to a word I'm saying?"

"Of course," Dean put on his best offended tone, "I know exactly what you said."

"Really?" Sam turned to face his brother, "What was the last thing I said?"

"You asked me if I listen to a word you say," Dean grinned.

Sam went to make a very loud retort back, however saw that Dean was already halfway to a small outside bar. With a reluctant and exasperated sigh, Sam followed just in time to hear Dean hitting up a conversation with the bar tender.

"… my brother and I heard that there was another person that went missing the other week," Dean was saying.

"Yes," the man was looking at Dean in an odd way, "There has been a few of them."

Dean frowned at the man's choppy English, "Yeah… umm, were you here for all of them? Like, working?"

"Yes."

Dean gave and exasperated look to Sam who spoke up, "Excuse me, Sir, I think what my brother is trying to ask, is do you know what happened to these people?"

"No," the man pushed two drinks towards the brothers, "Here… have fun… on the house."

"Alright!" Dean enthusiastically cried out, "See Sammy… you do have powers."

"Dean wait," Sam spoke as the bar tender walked away, "Do you think we should?"

"Lighten up Sammy," Dean took a large swig of his drink, "The guy was probably just getting pissed at us asking him questions."

"Yeah," Sam sighed taking his drink, "Well next time wait for me before you start giving the third degree."

Dean shrugged this off as he finished his drink in one gulp. After much talkative pestering, Sam finished his and together the hunters took a tour of the deck. Sam couldn't help but feeling a little good in the fact that Dean was finally happy; it had been such a long time since Dean had laughed and smiled so much, and Sam thought for a moment that Dean was actually forgetting the fact that he had less than a year to live.

"I'm tired," Dean spoke suddenly as he stopped in his tracks near the railing.

"What?" Sam frowned as Dean clutched the railing wearily, "…Dean, are you ok?"

"I'm tired," Dean repeated with a wide yawn.

Sam paused a moment before reluctantly mimicking the yawn, "Yeah… me too…"

Dean frowned, "Maybe just the long ride in the car?"

"M-Maybe," Sam exhausted another yawn, "I'm going to go crash for a bit… pick this up later."

"I'll follow," Dean responded lamely.

Clumsily the two headed back down bellow deck to their rooms. The walk wasn't a long one, however by the time the hunters got to the door and unlocked it, neither could keep steady focus.

"Dude, something's wrong," Dean breathed as he sat on the edge of his bed and Sam closed the door.

Sam stumbled to the bed, crashing nearly face first into the mattress, "…you're right."

Sam was sure he heard Dean mumble something but couldn't hear properly or reply as his body slipped quickly into an unconscious state. The next thing the younger hunter was aware of was someone shaking his body.

"Sammy," Dean shook Sam's shoulders firmly, "Sammy wake up man… time to wake up."

"Humm?" Sam mumbled.

Dean lightly smacked the side of Sam's face, "C'mon buddy… wakey, wakey."

"Dean?" Sam squinted sideways at his brother.

"Yup," Dean grasped the collar of Sam's shirt with both hands and lifted him into a sitting position, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Sam wiped his hand over his eyes and looked at Dean through the sleep which still lingered, "You?"

"Yeah," Dean let go and looked around, "What the hell happened?"

"We went to sleep," Sam looked around as well, "I think it was something from those drinks," he smacked Dean's arm, "I told you we shouldn't have drank them."

"Lets go," Dean ignored Sam's comment as he put his gun into the rim of his pants and pulled open his bag, "Grab your knife."

Sam pulled out his small pocket knife and watched Dean do the same as well pull out an assortment of the bullets. Without word Sam moved to the door and opened it up carefully. Dean snuck out first, though stopped barely a foot out of the doorway.

"What the--?" Dean breathed staring around.

"This can't be good," Sam whispered staring down both to his right and left.

The hallway had changed completely. No longer did any people walk around in busy noise, nor was the place lit up brightly with lamps and ceiling lights. Only a few random light bubs hung down now, giving ominous shadows to everything. The wall had gone from a solid oak finishing to a peeling wallpaper and paint finish that seemed to have weathered with age. The floor no longer was a soft peach color, but now was covered in broken and splintering wood.

"Dean, what the hell happened?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know," Dean took out his gun, "Lets go up deck."

Slowly the two worked their way down the long hallway, and up to the deck. The sky was dark and ominous, being disrupted only by shimmers of broken moonlight. Wordlessly the brother's walked onto the abandoned deck.

"The ship isn't moving," Dean observed.

"Yeah," Sam glanced out over the railing at the still, inky water, "We should split up… you go right and I'll go left, and meet at the back."

"No," Dean, despite it only being himself and Sam seemingly on board, whispered, "Dude, we have to stick together."

"Dean, we need to figure out what's going on," Sam pulled out his knife which he'd shoved in his picket, "I'll be fine."

Dean sighed, "Alright, just be careful."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "You too."

Sam broke away from Dean as he moved to the left of the ship. A low wind broke through the silence as Sam crept along the broken and rotting walkway. He almost laughed at how much the place looked like a ghost ship they'd see in the movies. All that was missing was the--

"Going somewhere?" Sam swung around to see the ghost of the same bar tender who served them their drinks.

"You," Sam breathed, pointing his knife towards the man, "What did you do to us?"

"Welcome," the man spread his arms out, "to my ship."

"_Your_ ship?" Sam frowned, feeling his heart beat quickening.

"My ship," the man confirmed, "I have… how you say… recruited you."

"What?"

"My ship needs people," the opaque spirit explained, "So I collect. You, are my lucky number seven from here."

"The other six people that went missing," Sam questioned, his eyes widening, "They were just taken to be on your crew?"

"Three wenches and three men," the spirit grinned.

"Well you're not going to have me," Sam spoke threatening taking a lung towards the spirit.

With a flick of his hand, the spirit lifted Sam up off his feet, sending out a horrible choking sound from the hunter.

"Dean!" Sam's strangled voice called, "…D-Dean…"

Slowly Sam's body was moved towards the railing, his feet dangling nearly two feet off the ground as his lips turned blue.

"Man overboard," the spirit whispered with a smile.

"_No!_" a cry came from around the corner of the walkway.

Sam's blurring vision looked over to see Dean running over, with his gun drawn and pointed at the spirit. Dean's eyes were wide, and shone mysteriously in the moonlight.

"Let him go," Dean begged.

"All I ever wanted was to be captain," the man spoke slowly to get the words out properly, "Now, I will be Captain Thomas J. Marcus."

Dean cocked the gun, "Let him go."

Thomas looked at Dean a moment, another crooked smile spreading across his face, "…ok."

Without warning Sam was flung over the railing.

"No!" Dean cried out firing two quick shoots into the spirit, which disappeared in a wisp of smoke, "_Sammy!_"

Dean took one lung forwards towards the railing when suddenly he fell flat against the rotting boards of the ghost ship. 

Instantly he awoke.

"Sam," Dean gasped sitting up, and staring around.

He was back inside their cabin again, and looking around, Dean's heart pounded in his chest at the absence of his little brother.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out, "…oh God…"

The memories of what happened was all to clear and Dean jumped up from his bed quickly and rushed out the door. He was vaguely aware of the fact that there was once again numerous people rushing around in the halls. As he reached the deck again the sun shone down brightly on the sunbathers, and the crew. Pausing in mid movement, Dean stared around for any sign of Sam.

"Sam!" Dean shouted out, numerous people turning around to look at him, "_Sam!_"

A shout and cry from the left caused Dean's attention to be turned. Rushing through the growing crowd of people, he could see vaguely the image of a person laying on the deck.

"Someone call a doctor!" a person shouted.

"I think he was overboard!" another cried out.

"Sam," Dean breathed shoving his way through the crowd.

Dean's breath caught in his throat as he saw that it was Sam laying on the ground of the deck, completely soaked.

"Sammy," Dean dropped to his knees, his fingers immediately going to the young hunters neck; breathing a sigh of relief at the beat, "Hey Sammy… can you hear me?"

Slowly Sam's eyes opened up and stared at Dean, "Hey… Dean."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes briefly before replying, "Hey Sammy," he pulled some wet hair form his forehead, "How are you?"

Sam breathed hard and stared at the growing crowd of people, "…what happened?"

"Can you move?" Dean asked, swallowing hard.

"Yeah," Sam coughed loudly, "help me."

"He's ok," Dean called out to the crowd before turning back to Sam, "C'mon Sammy… go slow, be careful."

Dean grabbed firmly onto Sam's arm and helped pull him first to a sitting position, and then to a standing position. Knowing that Sam wanted to get away from the people as soon as possible, Dean held firmly around his midsection and helped carry him away. Sam leaned heavily into his brother as they walked through the crowded deck, and to down bellow.

"Almost there," Dean reassured as they reached their room.

Once inside, Dean deposited Sam onto the bed, sitting down beside him, "Sammy, are you alright?"

"I think so," Sam pushed back his wet hair, "How about you?"

"I-I woke up here," Dean spoke quietly, "Dude, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Sam shook his head, "I remember the ship had changed, and there was some spirit up on deck. Then nothing."

"He grabbed you," Dean breathed hard, "Threw you over board."

Sam nodded, "I figured that. What- what did he say Dean?"

"He was collecting people," Dean sat with his hand partially over his mouth, "Just… killing people to make his own ghost ship."

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked carefully.

Dean nodded, "Thomas Marcus. Dude… are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine Dean," Sam forced a smile for proof, "I swear. We should look up the name and try to figure out who the hell this guy is."

"Yeah," Dean cleared his throat of the emotions, "You should go dry off. Check for any other injuries," then added as Sam walked into the bathroom, "And keep it unlocked!"

Keeping an ear out for any signs of distress from the bathroom, Dean pulled out Sam's laptop. Happy that Sam's wireless connection was holding up, he quickly typed in the name Thomas Marcus. Some random and useless sites came up before he ran into one that spoke of a sailing from the late 1600's.

"Oh man..." Dean breathed as he read through the small part of the article telling of a Thomas J. Marcus.

_During a 1689 sail from south Italy, the ship captained by Captain Ralph Bores was mutinied by sailor Thomas Marcus. The attempted mutiny was only partially successful as Thomas contracted scurvy through the trip, and died before making shore…_

"Find anything?" Sam questioned walking back into the small room.

Dean smiled, "You look better."

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Couple of bruises, that's it."

"That's good," Dean let out a small relieved breath, "And yeah, I found the guy. He was a sailor who took over the ship he was sailing on. He died before he could be much of a captain, and I guess he went on after to collect his crew."

"So he's probably hit more ships than just this one," Sam mused as he looked down at the screen Dean was on, "Goes for places with lots of people."

"They landed in New York," Dean commented as he read more in the article, "That'll be the place they would have buried him."

"Yeah," Sam grinned, "Guess you get your wish-- two days of just relaxing."

Dean mirrored the smile, "Sounds good to me. Do you want to rest up a bit first?" 

"No, I'm good," Sam shook his head, "We better go up deck before they send the cavalry after us to check on me though."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, you did seem like kind of a wuss."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked out the door. Dean followed, placing a sentimental hand on Sam's shoulder before once again flipping down his sunglasses and moving into the crowded corridor. Sam smiled and followed a small distance behind. The second piece of good luck in the past ten minutes happened as the same red headed woman in the blue top and white skirt walked seductively by Dean; sending a long flirtatious look at him.

'_Yep_,' Dean grinned, '_Definitely a ten…_' 

The End.


	70. Russian Roulette

_Disclaimer:__ no rhymes with moe, so i guess the answer is no._

_A/N:__ Holy hell... a winter storm came in the end of March. Which was pretty cool in the fact that over two feet of snow fell in about two days, but pretty crappy in the sense that I was stranded at my parents place for far longer than I would have liked. Either way, I'm back now. I see that I've been more or less bombing on my last few stories, so I'm continuing on the trend. Haha... I've had the story that I'm going to give you all tonight on my computer for about a year now. It's always been filed under the 'too crappy to post' catagory, but I'm giving it a shot tonight because I want to let you all know I'm back from my unplanned absense, and because I'm not quite done my new one shot. Anyways, haha-- try and enjoy!  
(ok guys... sorry about trying to get this story up... whenever I tried to upload it, the site botched it-- took out all my quotations one time, made everything italics another time, and then just cut out random parts of the story the third time. haha... i think my computer is possessed. i'm giving it another shot today, so hopefully it will work! --haha, finally this is working i think. never mind if the story is good, you should review just because this took me over 24 hours to get right and be able to post. haha... fricken possessed computer...) _

* * *

_Title:__ Russian Roulette  
__Genre:__ Pretty damn suspensful... haha, at least it's suppose to be.  
__Summary:__ Sam is possessed by a demon who likes to try and kill people through luck. This time is Russian Roulette with much higher odds. (italics are flashback memories just to let ya'll know...) _

Russian Roulette

"_You boys have to keep your eyes open for all types of demons. Even when you're not hunting." _

"_We know Dad," Dean groaned loudly. _

"_I know you know," John warned, "But there's one kind. A particularly nasty son of a bitch that plays by it's own rules…" _

"Sammy," Dean spoke calmly, his hand outstretched towards his brother, "Sam, c'mon buddy, you have to listen to me."

Sam calmly ignored Dean and carried on with his task of meticulously loading his gun. He was loading it different, however, and that's what scared Dean.

"Sam, please," Dean tried not to let himself beg, "Just drop the gun. I know you can hear me."

"_This thing… this demon lives on luck. It doesn't care about winning or loosing. It just wants to see if you can beat it." _

"_What do you mean Dad?" _

"Sam, put the gun down _now!_" Dean demanded, his own heart beginning to pound in his

chest.

"You know I can't do that," Sam smiled up at him, "That's not how the game works."

"How many?" Dean breathed, "How many bullets did you put in there?"

Sam smiled and whispered out, "Lucky number three."

Dean's mind whirled. He knew certain things as facts. He knew that the person standing in front of him wasn't really his brother-- he was possessed. He knew that the evil thing inside of Sammy was playing a game.

Russian Roulette.

The odds were high. The usually play of the game involved placing one bullet in the barrel of the gun, spinning it, and shooting it at your head. Hoping that the chamber is empty when the potentially fatal blast of the gun goes off. Sammy had three bullets in the gun now.

It was even money.

"_Sometimes these things will change your odds-- to change luck. Other times it will play the game along with you. Hang the victim so that their toes are just touching the ground. See how long they can stay underwater. And sometimes its even worse. It's all about luck." _

_Dean swallowed, "How do you stop it?" _

"_You can't."_

"Sam," Dean kept his hands visible, "Sam, please! You have to listen to me. This is stupid. Please Sam."

"Sorry," Sam's eyes flashed black, "Sammy's not home."

"I swear to God if you hurt him, I'll kill you," Dean threatened.

"You can't," Sam laughed, "You're baby brother will be dead long before I will be. Unless," a smile spread across his face, "… unless he has the luck of the devil inside him."

"Sammy!" Dean yelled out as his brother picked up the gun.

"Nice try Dean. But the games have only just begun."

"_They possess their victim, and make them do these things. There's nothing you can do to stop it without hurting the person." _

"_But Dad," Sam gave a light laugh, "There has to be a way. There's always a way to beat these assholes." _

"_There is," John looked solemnly at his sons, "Stay the hell away from them."_

"Sam, please-- _please_," Dean took a step towards his little brother, "Just put the gun down. I know you're in there! _Drop the gun Sam!_"

A larger smile came to Sam's face as he placed the gun to his temple, "Maybe if you say it loud enough, he'll hear you."

"Sam…" on the contrary Dean spoke quietly, "Sam please… please don't do this man…"

Select tears rolled down Dean's face which only seemed to fuel the fire on the demon's delight. Still staring with dark black eyes at Dean, Sam cocked the gun.

"Sam, I know you can hear me!" Dean cried out desperately.

"Sorry Dean," the demon smiled.

"_It's all about the luck with these demons Dean. That's the only thing that can beat it."_

The black eyes turned a bright, frightened green just seconds before it happened.

Sam's trembling finger pulled the trigger, and the gun fell to the ground. Dean froze, scared to breath or move as he waited numbly for something to happen. When something finally did happen, Dean didn't want to believe it.

"_Ahh!!_" a scream escaped Sam's mouth as his head arched backwards, his mouth open wide in release of the demon which had been using him as his play thing.

Immediately Dean's little brother collapsed to the ground on his knees. Oddly the elder Winchester's first movement wasn't too his brother, but to the gun which sat at his feet. With fumbling hands, Dean fell to the floor and scrambled to open up the gun. It seemed to take forever, and even longer to count the number of bullets that were still in it.

One.

Two.

…three…

"_It's all about luck…"_

"Sammy," Dean breathed out, scrambling towards his little brother, "_Sammy!_"

Slowly Sam rolled over to face Dean, a look of confusion plastered on his pale face. His breath was deep and slow as both Winchester's stared at each other a moment.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated near a whisper.

"Dean," Sam finally spoke, eyes wide, "What happened?"

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.

"Dean?"

"Are you ok?" Dean questioned.

Sam nodded, "I feel tired. What the hell happened to me?"

Dean thought about this a moment, a smile coming to his face, "You won."

"_Sometimes you'll win Dean," his Dad's voice echoed, "But not usually. These son of a _

_bitches are relentless." _

"_Dad, don't worry about it," Dean laughed, "You're giving us all this warning for nothing. You said that you've heard of what? Three of these things; ever. What are the odds that we'll actually run into one." _

"_If you do Dean," John paused, "Just remember; the odds are against you." _

"What do you mean Dean?" Sam sat up fully; Dean crouched beside him.

"Dude," Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately, "You just used up eight of your nine lives."

Sam grinned at his worried big brother, "Guess it's a good thing I'm not a cat then, huh?"

The End.


	71. Revenge of the Brother

_Disclaimer: I once heard that a person died from saying 'no' too much... hahahaha... no I didn't._

A/N: What do I have to say for myself? End of semester and exam times suck! I've had so many final projects, theatre productions, and everything going for me that I've been super stressed these passed few weeks, and haven't had time to write. But that's ok, I was kindda on a downward roll anyways, haha. Hopefully this one shot will help boost it up. I was talking to my friend, and asked her for a story idea. She's the friend named Karlea who the story 'Angst Break' was supposidly about. Anyways, she asked me to write sort of a sequel to that, where it's Dean's turn to do something to a drunken Sam. I ran with it. Haha... Also in this story, assume that Dean did not know what Sam ended up doing to him in 'Angst Break'. Alright, so one last thing... just a little heads up on what I'm working on... I have my story with the person who wrote me my 600th review in it, and I also have a story called 'Fear' which could be good. Added to that I'm going to have out finally the chapter of 'A Windy Story'. Tomorrow is my last day of classes, so I'll be pretty good for time for a couple of days after that.  
I talk too much-- enjoy!  
(another thing... I may not be posting as much for the next little bit on the mere fact that this site likes to royally mess up my documents when I upload them, and it takes me a decent amount of time to fix it all.)

* * *

Title: Revenge of the Brother  
Genre: Another horrible shot at my humor.  
Summary: Sam celebrates a little too hard after a successful hunt, and Dean decides to have some fun.

Revenge of the Brother

"You're not drunk," Sam squinted towards Dean.

"Yeah dude, I totally am," Dean took another swig back of his beer to prove his words.

Sam grinned sloppily and pulled back his shot of tequila. Curiously the younger brother stared down into the glass, and tried to remember how many he'd had since the brother's came to the bar two hours earlier. The number escaped him however, and he raised his arm up towards the bartender to get another one.

Dean grinned, "If you pass out, I'm leaving your ass here tonight, and you can play hangover hide-and-seek in the morning to try and find me."

Sam let out an all to loud laugh which caused Dean to cringe. Granted he had been drinking for the same amount of time as Sam had been, Dean stuck simply with beer while Sam dug into the hard liquor to celebrate their completion of a hunt. It wasn't an easy one, having lasted a week straight and ending with a pain inducing battle against a spirit who didn't want to leave an old hospital. But it was finally over and after Dean suggested they go to a bar to celebrate, Sam eagerly agreed.

"How's your arm Sam?" Dean questioned as the memories of the battle, and Sam's subsequent injury floated into his mind.

"What arm?"

"The one that's attached to your body," Dean stated.

"Oh, that one!" Sam cried out, and craned his neck awkwardly to look down at the covered laceration on his right arm, "…it's still there."

Dean rolled his eyes as he noted the bandage hadn't bleed through yet, "Dude, how many of those shots have you had?"

Sam gulped down another one and paused in thought, "Umm… what comes after six?"

Dean laughed, "Seven?"

"Right," Sam nodded, "I've had eight."

"Might want to slow down there bud," Dean swiveled on his bar stool, "Why don't you go find some chick and show her--"

A loud burp escaped Sam followed by a high pitched giggle.

"Alright, ax the chick," Dean frowned.

"I can't ax a chick!" Sam hissed, "She isn't possessed or anything."

"I think your IQ just dropped about fifty points Sammy," Dean took another swig of his beer.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Dean shook his head, "C'mon, we should start back to the hotel before you pass out."

"How?" Sam questioned, "You're drunk. You ate _five_ beers."

Dean helped lift Sam to his feet and winced at the rancid breath, "You helped with them… don't worry."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered out as he walked crookedly across the bar to the front door.

Dean grinned, "It's ok-- you can pay for the gas. I have to fill up on the way back to the hotel."

Awkwardly Dean helped Sam out the front swinging doors and into the crisp night air. The early April weather was perfect for Michigan and Dean would have loved to linger if it weren't for the fact that Sam was forced to quickly excuse himself to get sick at the side of the building. Hoping he'd give warning if he'd be sick in the car, Dean deposited his little brother in the passenger seat of the Impala, and got into the drivers seat.

"Ready Sammy?" Dean questioned.

"Ready Freddy," Sam grinned followed again by another laugh at a joke that only he seemed to get.

Biting back a retort, Dean started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Along the way a plan derived into the older brother's brain. Remembering the time many months ago when Sam had managed to win the bet with Karlee and get twenty dollars from him, Dean now had a satisfying way to return the favor. Pulling into the nearest gas station, Dean looked over at a half passed out Sam.

"Alright Sleeping Beauty, cough up a twenty," Dean spoke, "That should last us until tomorrow."

"Yep," Sam slurred and pulled out his wallet.

Dean had to give his little brother credit on the fact that he actually managed to pull out a twenty from his wallet and hand it to him. With a lingering smile, Dean got out of the car, and put the twenty dollars worth of gas into the car. A few moments later he got back in and started it up, looking with satisfaction at the meter reading just over half a tank now.

"Good job Dean," Sam laughed from the passenger seat, "You pump gas good."

"Oh you're going to have fun in the morning," Dean shook his head with amusement as he pulled out back onto the highway.

"Why?" Sam questioned, "I won't be drunk then."

Dean decided not to comment on this, but continued to drive on in semi silence. Five minutes later the older brother pulled into another gas station.

"Dude, this car _sucks_ with gas!" Dean declared loudly.

"Huh?" Sam snapped to lucidity and looked over at Dean.

"I need another twenty for gas," Dean stated straight faced.

"M'kay," Sam pulled out his wallet again, "But you gotta fix the car tomorrow."

"For sure."

Dean got out of the car, twenty in hand and stood idly by the back of the car for a few moments. Wondering briefly how many more gas stations he could do this with, Dean pocketed the money, and got back into the car. Sam sat slouched in the seat staring in a daze through the window.

"It work?" Sam asked.

"Did what work?"

"The money," Sam struggled to think of the words and put them in the right order, "It got gas this time?"

"Yeah Sammy, we're good," Dean nodded and once again started up the car.

"That's not my name," Sam looked blurry eyed at Dean, "You put too many letters in it. Stop at the first 'm'."

Dean continued to drive on while Sam spoke matter-of-factly about the spelling of his name. Maybe if the younger hunter wasn't such an annoying drunk, or such a talkative drunk, Dean wouldn't have done it, but with a sly grin on his face he pulled into the last gas station before their hotel.

"Wait," the alcohol was clearly starting to leave Sam's system, "You just gots gas, didn't we?"

"No we didn't," Dean shook his head.

Sam eyed Dean, "You're lying."

"Would I lie to you?" Dean flashed a grin.

"I have to go the bathroom," Sam abruptly stated, his eyes widening slightly.

"Alright Jumbo, c'mon," Dean moved swiftly around to the passenger side door, not wanting whatever was going to come out of Sam to come out inside of the car.

Sam stumbled, half clutching into Dean into the small convenience store where they weaved their way to the bathroom. Standing guard at the door, Dean waited to make sure he didn't hear a loud crash of the man falling. A few minutes later Sam emerged looking as if he was going to fall flat on his face.

"Better?" Dean questioned.

"Uh huh…" Sam nodded.

Quickly Dean peeked into the bathroom to make sure that Sam hadn't made any mess that would cause a poor employee there to quit well before his time. Confident that Sam had kept up his stature of cleanliness, he helped him to the car once again. Guilt began to creep into Dean at this point as he decided not to try and pull the trick on him again. By the way Sam's face was turning an interesting shade of green, Dean figured the kid had enough coming to him.

"Y'know Dean…" Sam mumbled as he sat in the passenger seat of the car and Dean stood outside the door.

"Yeah Sam?"

"I-I feel bad," Sam scrunched up his face.

"I know," Dean smiled sympathetically, "You gotta learn your limits Sammy-boy. You can't drink as much as me."

"No, no, no," Sam shook his head, mesmerized momentarily as the world continued to move even after he stopped, "It's 'bout before."

"Before?" Dean continued to stand outside the car staring curiously at Sam.

"Uh huh," Sam nodded, "With Karlee. I knew her Dean. I made her take the bet looooooong before you knew. That's why I won," Sam pulled out his wallet, "Here. You can take back the twenty. I promise."

Dean took the wallet, and closed his eyes briefly, not sure whether to yell and be mad, or laugh his ass off. He chose simply to open the wallet and look at the contents. Sam had managed to win a fair amount of money at a recent poker game Dean convinced him to play on, and so still had a decent amount left. Gingerly Dean took out the twenty Sam 'promised' he could have.

"Oh and Sam?"

"Uh huh?" Sam leaned back against the soft seat.

"I'm going to need to take another twenty for gas."

The End.


	72. Bloody Hell

_Disclaimer: This is as much mine as my computer is stable..._

A/N: Ha!! Told ya! I told you all! It's like Old Faithful, except slightly less predictable. My oh so lovely computer crashed. Zap! Everything gone. Thankfully it was a relatively slow crash, so I was able to save some, but not nearly everything. Which sucks. I've got my computer back online, and, so you all don't go too long without a one shot, I've stolen a one shot that I wrote for a different site, and am posting it here for you all to enjoy. It's very limp!Sam, so fans of that may like it. Anyways, this poor writer is going to continue trying to salvage what's left of my computer. Enjoy!  
(another note... this story takes place during season 2, though I stupidly have our boys with the colt and apparently an extra bullet. Haha... just ignore that little oopsie)

* * *

Title: Bloody Hell  
Genre: Suspense, and a lot of fricken angst.  
Summary: Sam is taken by a vampire and wakes up by himself in an old, abandoned house. After Dean comes to the hunter's rescue, it's a frantic race to figure out where the missing vampire is, and if he changed Sam into one of them...

Bloody Hell

"It's like Murphy's Law," Dean mussed as he hugged the wall of the back alley they were in, "We never saw _one_ of these damn things until Dad mentions them."

"Well he thought vampires were extinct too," Sam rationalized, mirroring his brother's position, "I guess they just all decided to come out once they realized that Yellow Eyes started up the game again."

"A _game_?" Dean turned harshly to Sam, "This isn't a game dude, we're hunting--"

"Cool it Dean," Sam interrupted, "We don't have time to get into an argument right now."

Dean bit back a retort and continued his way down the alley with a machete in hand. It was nearly two in the morning, and the two had followed a vampire named Sebastian for nearly six hours. Finally they'd tracked him down to their current location, and knowing that the alley lead to a dead end, a fight was seemingly inevitable. Silence washed around the brother's as they went completely stealth and crept deeper into the alley.

Something seemed to move in the shadows to their right, and Sam gently placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to get his attention. Startled, Dean swung around, his eyes wide momentarily until he registered that it had just been Sam, and consequently shot a look at him that spelt ultimate doom later. A small smile snuck onto the younger brother's face at this before he got serious again and pointed towards where he saw something move.

Dean nodded, and held out his machete more. The alley was dark, and though both Winchester hunter's had the ability to move gracefully and soundlessly, a clumsy moment was bound to always happen at the worst possible time. It happened loudly this time as Dean bumped into a garbage can sending a loud chain reaction clatter of noise to erupt the silent air.

"Dean!" Sam cried out in shock.

"Sammy, move it!" Dean shouted out as another bang came from something moving quickly towards them.

Sam didn't have time to respond or even look for the vampire as his consciousness ended abruptly with a solid crack to his head from behind.

-§-

Coming to a conscious state was one of the most difficult things that Sam had done in a long time, and almost immediately he regretted it. A pounding beat vibrated through his head in time with his heartbeat that caused the hunter to lean forward and get sick on the floor beside him. It was at this movement that Sam realized he was tied to a chair, and was unable to move anything but his head.

"Oh God…" Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain as he leaned his head down against his chest.

A small trickle of blood rolled down from Sam's forehead and made it's way down his face. Unwilling to endure the pain of moving his head again, Sam simply opened his eyes and watched as the droplets of blood fell heavily onto his lap. A small, fleeting feeling of panic swept through Sam at the sight of older blood stained on not only his pants, but his shirt as well, but quickly he decided he didn't care. The pain quickly took hold of Sam once again as he fell into a world of black.

The next time Sam awoke, a strong sun beam shone in from a broken window behind him. He seemed to not have been moved at all as Sam could feel the dried blood mixed with fresh still working its way down his face. The pain still pulsated through Sam's head and the rest of his body, though it wasn't nearly as bad as earlier, Sam realized, as he attempted to look around.

"Dean…" Sam's throat felt raw and painful as his hazed eyes stared around, "Dean!"

The energy of yelling his brother's name drained Sam as he struggled to see the entire room. The broken window behind him served as a helper as the light bounced off the walls. The chair he was tied in was against the longer side of the rectangle room that was no more than fifteen feet long, and six or seven feet across. Everything was made of rotting wood that looked like a good wind would blow down, and dust layered the small table that sat in one corner as well as the wooden floor. An obviously broken light hung halfway down the ceiling, and his neck and head screaming out in pain, Sam managed to turn his head around to see two windows covering the wall he was seated against. A door sat on the far right wall, and Sam watched it a moment, expecting someone to come in.

"Sebastian left me," Sam grunted as he squeezed his eyes shut in the pain of moving his body, "…why would he leave me…"

Slowly Sam's heartbeat quickened, bringing with it a deeper pounding in his head and the feeling that he was once again going to be sick. The wonder and worry of what had happened to him was nothing, at that point, compared to the immense, sickening panic of where Dean was and if he was ok. The more Sam thought about this, the more his body hurt, and soon, once again, the Winchester was unconscious. The pattern continued on for the rest of the day. Sometimes Sam would manage to stay awake for over an hour, and other times only long enough to give him a brief glimpse of his prison.

Soon it came to the point when Sam opened his eyes, and there was no longer a beam of light shinning through. Darkness had once again stolen Sam's world, and his body began to feel other pains than the ones he'd started with. Jabbing cramps shot through his legs and arms as a result of their being held in the same position for so long, and thirst was beginning to become a problem as the taste of blood in Sam's mouth was beginning to cause his stomach to dry heave. Refusing to roll back into unconsciousness though, Sam forced himself to stay awake. He'd tried feebly to get out of the ropes before, and didn't particularly want to try anymore as the pain of moving any limb caused his head to spin violently. Instead Sam opted for watching the light fade more and more until just a dim haze crept into the room. Sam's most keen sense, his hearing, kicked in as his sight was limited to a mere foot in front of him, and it had only been a half hour of listening before he heard something.

"He's back," Sam whispered, his first instinct being that Sebastian had returned.

The noise was getting closer, and Sam could hear the person opening and closing doors off in the distance.

"…Sam!…"

Sam's heart leapt into his throat at the shout of his name. The voice was one he knew he'd recognize until the day he died as being Dean's. Struggling to swallow the dry taste in his mouth and to get enough air in his lungs, Sam stared towards where the door was and yelled.

"Dean! _Dean!_"

Quick movement was followed by a loud slam of the door being opened. A beam of light from a flashlight was shinned directly in Sam's face and he was forced to close his eyes and turn his head away.

"Oh God, Sammy," Dean gasped, making it to Sam in one large lunge.

Sam smiled weakly as he stared at Dean a moment. Dean on the other had looked more terrified than Sam had ever seen him, and fumbled quickly to stick his flashlight into his mouth and reach into his pocket for a knife. Working frantically, Dean cut loose Sam's arms, to which the younger brother let out a cry of pain at the movement. Silent tears fell down Dean's face as he moved to Sam's legs and did the same thing which resulted in a similar whimper of pain. The rope which was wrapped tightly around Sam's chest and torso was easily taken off now, and thankfully didn't seem to cause too much pain to Sam.

"Ok, ok…" Dean gasped lightly as he placed a supporting hand behind Sam's head, "It's going to be ok Sammy. I'm going to help you up now, and we're going to go to the hospital."

"No," Sam slowly shook his head.

"Yes," Dean spoke sternly, "Sam you're… I can fix all of this."

A thought that had been pulsing through Sam's brain now came out in words, "No Dean… he left me."

"So?" Dean was bent down now, trying to get a better look at where the blood was coming from.

Sam's voice shook, "…I think… maybe…"

A horrified expression emerged through Dean's features as he stared into Sam's eyes, and spoke at nearly a whisper, "Sam did he change you?"

Sam remained silent.

"_Sam!_"

"I don't know," Sam's dry mouth was making each word harder and harder to get out, "…I don't know Dean."

"Come on," Dean's urgency was back in full force now, "We have to go. I'll take you back to the hotel, and if it looks really bad, you are going to a hospital."

Sam wordlessly agreed and prepared himself for the searing pain that would happen when he was forced to his feet. He wasn't disappointed as when Dean grabbed under his arms and pulled him up, Sam nearly collapsed straight down to the ground.

"Damn it Sam," Dean cried out, "Maybe I should call--"

"No," Sam interrupted as he used Dean's body to pull himself fully up.

"You're a stubborn bastard," Dean accused, anger laced in his voice as he took a small step with Sam clutched in his arms.

Sam forced a smile onto his face as they moved carefully and slowly across the room. By the time they got outside and to the Impala, Sam felt as if he was going to be sick again, and wanted to smack Dean up side the head for his constant brooding. It had taken a fair amount of time to get to the vehicle, and by now the sun had completely set, and the inky sky was splashed with stars.

"Do you want me to grab a blanket or something?" Dean questioned as he opened up the passenger door for Sam.

"No," Sam shook his head, willing his stomach not to dry heave all over the interior of the car.

Not that Dean was too worried about his upholstery, Sam realized, as the moment Sam sat down in the seat with a groan of pain, he was sure that blood was staining his precious Impala. Sam could almost visually see the conflict happening in Dean as they made their way back to the hotel. On one hand the older brother wanted to drive as fast as he could to get there quickly, and yet he didn't want to drive too quickly in fear of jostling Sam around painfully.

"You good?" Dean questioned five minutes into the trip.

"Uh huh."

The lack of a proper response caused Dean to press down even harder on the accelerator, and less than five minutes later, he'd pulled to a stop outside a shanty motel. Quickly Dean opened the door and rounded to the passenger side. Opening it up, Dean carefully took hold of Sam and helped him into a standing position.

"You ok?" Dean asked softly.

"Never better," Sam groaned, surprised by the fact that his stomach wasn't rolling anymore, though his head continued to thump in beat with his heart.

Crossing the ten feet to the door they were parked in front of, Dean pulled out the key, went inside and turned on the main overhead light. Carefully he helped Sam into a sitting position on the nearest bed and swallowed hard at the state he appeared in the light.

"Alright," Dean swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, "I'm going to take the car and run down to the drug store to grab some things. I want you to try and take off as much clothing as possible so that I can tell what's wrong when I get back. I'll have my cell on me."

"I think I can manage," Sam spoke dryly at Dean's fussing.

Dean gave one last sparing look towards Sam before leaving and locking the door behind him. Sam knew that they had been short on medical supplies, and figured he must look pretty bad if it warranted Dean leaving him behind to get some more things. Taking a few moments to simply relax, Sam then decided to start on the task of taking off his stained clothing.

It wasn't a simple nor easy request, as much of Sam's clothing was soaked in blood, and stuck painfully to open wounds on his body. It took nearly five minutes just to remove the two shirts that Sam had on, and by the time he finished this, his breath was coming in sharp gasps. Not wanting to pass out again or get sick, Sam moved in quick motion to take off his shoes, socks and jeans so that finally he was sitting on the bed in nothing but his boxers; a pile of bloodied clothes sitting on the floor. It was at this point that he heard a bang outside of the window.

"Dean?" Sam spoke quietly to himself as he stood up on wobbly legs.

Another bang was heard, this time followed by someone trying to open the locked door. Immediately Sam knew that this wasn't Dean, and his eyes scanned around for some sort of weapon. Using the bed to support himself, Sam made his way to the pillow and lifted it up. A small smile touched his lips at the knife sitting securely underneath. Picking up the weapon, Sam turned back to the door just in time to hear a loud bang of something smashing against it.

"Didn't exactly think this plan through, did you Dean?" Sam breathed, keeping his eyes trained at the door.

It was at that moment that Sam realized how worried and upset Dean must have been. A clear headed Dean wouldn't have left Sam alone, nor would he have not have made sure that Sam had a weapon or some sort of protection against the vampire that had caused all the problems. Thinking back on his own worry towards Dean's state, Sam could only imagine what the last twenty-four hours had done to his brother.

"Knock, knock!" a sudden voice boomed from outside the door seconds before it smashed in.

Sam stared wide eyed as a grinning Sebastian walked through the door. Neither brother had gotten too good of a look at the vampire before as they'd been tracking him in the dark, but now in the light Sam could easily see that when he was human, he would have been the type of guy all the girls wanted. His hair was medium length, shaggy and a dirty blond color with a pair of unneeded sunglasses propped on top. He wore an unbuttoned dark burgundy shirt, revealing his well built torso. To finish off his looks was a pair of blue jeans and black shoes that looked as if they'd seen better days.

"What do you want?" Sam questioned, dizziness washing through his body at the sudden surge of adrenaline.

"You, Sammy-Boy," Sebastian laughed, "You're like meals on wheels."

"You left me," Sam had one questioned he wanted answered, "Did you…"

"Change you?" Sebastian looked bored at this question, "Every time I catch a hunter like you they always ask me this question, like we change people all the time. Do you know how much time and effort goes into changing a person?"

"That didn't answer my question," Sam remained in his position with the knife in hand.

"No, you were sort of in storage until I was ready to finish you." Sebastian sighed, "But I can change you if you want. I mean… you definitely have the stuff for being evil."

"You son of a bitch," Sam fought through any physical pain and took a threatening step towards the vampire who still stood just barely in the doorway.

"What's wrong Sammy?" Sebastian pulled out a gun from the back rim of his jeans, "Don't you ever kill someone just for the rush of it all?"

A small smile came to Sam's face at the sight of something coming up behind Sebastian, "No, I don't like to…"

A sudden shot of a gun echoed in the small room followed by a crackle of electricity. The vampire stood stock still, his eyes wide as a bullet from the infamous colt shot it's power through his body.

"…my brother on the other hand seems to enjoy it," Sam smirked.

Quickly Dean moved into the room and shut the door, his eyes wide as he stared at Sam who promptly sat down on the nearest bed.

"Jesus Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean whispered moving his way over to the bed and crouching down in front of Sam.

Instead of a face of fear or hurt, Sam looked up at his brother with a smile on his face, and select tears silently rolling down his bruised features. Sam suddenly felt awkward sitting in nothing but his boxers, and found himself amazingly tired, but one thing caused the smile to be kept.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean questioned, still scrutinizing over every cut and bruise; his eyes finally landing on the harsh bite mark on his brother's neck.

"You didn't hear…" Sam spoke slowly.

"Hear what Sam?" a small amount of panic began to grow inside Dean, "The only think I saw was him pointing that gun at you."

Sam pulled his hand roughly through his blood soaked hair before making eye contact with Dean and speaking quietly, "…he didn't change me Dean."

Dean turned away and immediately went to his feet; his back to Sam. Sam's first instinct that was that Dean was caught up in emotions-- a rare Dean Winchester moment, though it happened from time to time nonetheless. This thought was quickly and startlingly blown away as a sound somewhere between a yell and a cry erupted from Dean, followed by the older hunter throwing a nearby book against the wall with a solid bang. Moving as quick as possible, Sam reached beside him to where a pair of his sweatpants sat that had been tossed there days before.

Slipping them on, Sam stood his feet, "Dean?

Dean turned around, his face suddenly very red and scrunched up into a look of pain and confusion. So few times did Sam see his brother break down in front of him, and every time Sam had no idea what to do. Even worse, he didn't know _why_ this time.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam's voice went back to a scared five year old.

Dean washed his hand over his face, leaving it briefly over his mouth before speaking through a cracked voice, "I'm so sorry Sammy."

"No," as the adrenaline slowly left Sam's body, the pain once again began to return, "Dean, no… this isn't your fault, man."

Dean stared over at the body of Sebastian, "…I left you. Twice."

Sam didn't remember much from the alley, though knew without question that Dean wouldn't have intentionally left him, "Dean, don't do this to yourself."

"I screwed up," tears now came down Dean's face, "…all I can ever seem to do with you is screw up, and you _always_ get hurt from it! I thought…" Dean wiped the tears from his face, "…I was sure he had turned you Sammy…"

Sam smiled, "He didn't. I can feel it now… I remember when I was waking up every few hours, everything hurt, and I was so scared that's what he'd done. But Dean… I'm ok."

Dean looked up and down his brother, "Dude, you're far from ok."

"Did you get some more supplies?" Sam questioned as he moved his stiff arm to feel a nice sized knot on the back on his head.

"Yeah, they're in the car…" Dean looked reluctantly at the door.

"Go Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure I'll be ok while you go to the car. Besides, you need to make sure that no one heard that gun shot."

"Right," Dean took a step towards the door, paused, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Sammy, I really am sorry."

"You'll be even more sorry if the police bust in here and find us with a dead body on the floor," Sam pointed out with a smile.

"Good point," Dean took a deep breath and walked to the door and outside.

Sam took this time to walk over to the bathroom and look at his injuries. The mirror showed from his chest up, and Sam realized then why Dean was so upset about the events of the past few days. Deep crimson blood stained much of Sam's face and matted his brown hair. His chest had harsh slice marks going across it that Sam couldn't remember getting, and blood dripped down from the puncture marks on the right side of his neck. Random bruises that had turned into deep purple and blue colors were scattered throughout every inch of his body, and looking down at is wrists, Sam saw they had been rubbed raw from the ropes which had bound him.

Grabbing a cloth from a small table in the bathroom, Sam ran the water in the sink and began to gently clean off his face. A small amount of relief swept through him as he saw that the majority of the blood on his face had come from his head, so at least the injury didn't seem as bad. Only a black eye and split lip seemed to adorn his handsome facial features, and the younger Winchester brother was just about to begin on cleaning his chest and arms when Dean appeared at the door.

"You should be cleaning that with alcohol," Dean stated.

"Right," Sam hobbled out past Dean and into the main room.

"I still think you need to get to a hospital Sam," Dean frowned.

"I trust you more than I trust some random guy that will charge us more money than we have, and will probably ask too many questions," Sam lowered himself carefully onto the end of the bed.

Dean sighed at his brother's stubbornness, "Alright, but if you bitch even once during this, we're going."

Sam smiled at Dean's habitual teasing, "Thanks Dean."

Dean sat on the bed next to Sam and began to unpack the assortment of medical supplies that he'd bought, "For what Sammy?"

Sam smiled sincerely and looked at his big brother, "For coming back."

The End.


	73. Superman

_Disclaimer: Crap, I haven't had to think of a new way to say no in a looong time... wonder if I can still do it? _

_A/N: One day I was innocently walking my dog down the road when suddenly a space ship hovered over top of me and landed directly in front of me. Was scared?-- oh no!, I was curious. Then small purple aliens came down a plank and walked up to me and a my dog. They asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. Well, I had nothing else to do for the afternoon, so naturally I said yes and followed my new friends into their ship. They took me to every planet, and told me about a distant 'Earth' that's called 'Viagra' where there's a bunch of really tall people that are always too busy to pay attention to their visits. Finally they brought me back to earth and I continued on my treck to my house with my dog in tow. I got inside, and what would you know!-- four months had passed! I couldn't believe it, and so knew I had to rush up to my room to post a new story for my dwindling and deprived readers...  
Ok, it was either that, or that I've been increadibly stressed and busy for the past four months. Your choice._

* * *

_Title: Superman  
Genre: My usual-- suspense and angst... and supernatural.  
Summary: A spirit who used to pick up and then kill hitch hikers, continued his trend after he's killed... and this time he's taken Sam.  
**This story is proudly dedicated to Chantal-- my 600th reviewer!! Thanks so much!!**_

Superman

Dean looked at the gorgeous woman in front of him. She dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, however her hair flowed down in light auburn curls in a way that Dean imagined would have taken hours to do. Any other time Dean would have been hitting on her in a heartbeat, but the situation was far too serious to even think of doing that.

"Chantal you said your name was?" Dean questioned as he turned his attention away and hovered over the open trunk.

"Y-Yes," Chantal hugged her arms close to her chest, shivering though she wasn't cold.

Dean forced himself calm as he searched for some weapons and his Dad's journal, "Alright Chantal, tell me what happened again," he spared a look to the frightened woman, "And don't leave anything out."

"But it's not real," silent tears crept down Chantal's face as she looked over at the fading sun, "…it can't be real."

Dean sighed, "Listen-- it's real. Everything you thought was just stories is real. This _thing_ is real, and it has my brother. So I need you to tell me what the hell happened."

"Ok," Chantal's voice wavered, "I… umm, four hours ago I was driving home from work and suddenly the radio started going… weird. It started going in and out of the station and-- I don't know-- mixing the songs. The car sputtered and started to steer funny, so I pulled over, thinking that there was something wrong with the car."

"And that's when Sam came?" Dean questioned.

"Yes," Chantal nodded, "He drove up in this car, and told me that he'd give me a ride home."

Dean held a fistful of papers in his hand as he nodded, "Alright. Sam called me when he saw you pull to the side of the road. He was following you. But-- that's the last I heard of him. What happened next?"

Chantal swallowed hard, "I got in the car with him, and he started asking me questions about _my_ car. Asked me when I bought it, who I bought it from, for how much. At first I thought he was going to try and sell me a new vehicle, but then… then he asked me if anything strange had been happening when I drive it."

"And?" Dean prodded, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt.

"I've only had the car for just over two weeks," the tears continued to fall down Chantal's face, "I thought that it just had… kinks to work out. I don't understand though, what's happening?"

"What happened next?" Dean pushed.

"We traveled for a while down the road when suddenly another car was facing us," Chantal's voice shook, "I could tell Sam was nervous, and was trying to get to his phone," she paused and looked at Dean's worried face, "To phone you. But the other car was going too fast, and he couldn't avoid it. We- we ended up in the ditch. Sam made sure I was ok, then went to the trunk to grab something-- I didn't see what. He told me to stay in the car, and that he was going to go check out the other vehicle which had pulled to the side of the road a little ways past us. I-I watched him in the mirror but he went out of view. Then I heard a scream and what sounded like a loud gun going off. When… when I got out to look, both the other vehicle and Sam were gone."

Dean looked carefully at Chantal, "You're not saying something Chantal… what else?"

Chantal shook her head, "No… none of this… this can't be real…"

"_What?_" Dean didn't try and hide his lacing anger.

Chantal took another deep breath and closed her eyes, "I could swear that the vehicle coming towards us was my car. It-it even had a troll hanging from the mirror which I'd hung there yesterday. And… there was no driver."

"Damn it," Dean looked down at the paper's which he'd retrieved, "Ok Chantal… I'm going to tell you something, but lets skip past the whole 'oh my God, your insane' speech to the 'what can I do?' speech."

"…ok?"

"There's a spirit attached to your car," Dean stated bluntly, "A guy named Aaron Martin used to own it, and would pick up hitchhikers. He was killed trying to rob some random store the other month, and since his car was sold, three people have been killed by a vanishing hitchhiker." Dean raised his eyebrows, "Recall how many previous owners you were told this car had?"

Chantal swallowed, "…f-four."

Dean wiggled four fingers, and counted them off, "Our man, Aaron Martin. Cynthia Mart, twenty-seven, died from a stab wound to the stomach. Karla Kirk, eighteen, died from a stab wound to the stomach. And finally Morgan Green, thirty-two, died two days after being stabbed in the stomach by what he described as "a disappearing man". There was a reason you got this car so cheap."

"There's…" Chantal hiccoughed, "..I just…" she took a deep breath, "What can I do?"

A smile tugged at Dean's features, "Well first thing is finding my brother. Aaron was the physical type, and liked to take his victims into the woods to take his time. Did you see anything at all?"

Chantal shook her head, "No. I just heard the scream."

Dean sighed at looked around, running his hand roughly down his face, "Alright… I can't leave you on the side of the road because if he… if he finishes… he might come back."

"You want me to go with you?" Chantal asked, her eyes growing wide.

"Yeah," Dean spoke, then added at her scared expression, "It'll be ok."

"I don't know how to fight off dead people!" Chantal cried out, "Who do I look like, Ghostbusters?"

This got a smile out of Dean, "Alright, I'll give you a simple lesson. Spirits… or ghosts; they don't like salt, or iron," Dean grabbed out his shot gun to which Chantal took a step backwards, "This has salt in it," he took out a machete, "This blade is made of iron," he handed it to her, "Swing at anything that isn't me or my brother. Got it?"

"You really are nuts," Chantal whispered taking the weapon.

"Oh Sweetheart, you haven't seen anything," Dean grinned flirtatiously, "Now just stay directly behind me."

Chantal nodded, and breathing in the cool evening air, Dean walked down the highway to where Chantal said the other car had stopped. Looking both ways, Dean noticed that the woods to the left appeared to have broken branches and looked roughed up.

"Come on," Dean walked into the ditch and into the trees; pulling out his flashlight to pan the way.

"So… you and your brother do this?" Chantal questioned quietly, "You go after these things?"

"Something like that, yeah," Dean kept his eyes and ears alert for any sound.

"What will you do when we find it?"

"Well first thing will be to get the son of a bitch away from Sam, and then get you somewhere safe," Dean explained the plan which he was making up as he went along, "Then Sam and I will find the grave of this Aaron guy and burn his bones."

"Why?" Chantal, as well looked around as they stepped through the bush, "Will that get rid of it for good?"

"So the story goes," Dean smirked.

Abruptly, the two stepped into a large clearing. Panning the flashlight around, Dean saw an old looking wooden house with a rotten porch. Every window seemed broken, and the moonlight which spread onto the building showed off its peeling exterior. Quickly Dean placed his hand out to stop Chantal's movement, and to cue her to be quiet. It didn't take long for Dean to hear a muffled sound coming from within the house.

"Come on," Dean whispered, his heartbeat quickening, "And stay close."

Chantal wordlessly nodded as she followed Dean's stealth movements towards the front door. They had just made it onto the rotting planks of woods when the figure of a man appeared beside Dean with a knife in his hand.

"Look out!" Chantal cried, swinging her machete at the spirit.

With a small yell, the spirit disappeared into the wind just as Dean spun around.

"Thanks," Dean panted, "You're pretty good with that."

Chantal blushed slightly, "Thanks."

Much more cautiously, Dean walked all the way to the front door before calling out, "Sam!?" he looked back at Chantal and repeated the instructions from before, "Stay close."

Chantal nodded as the two entered the house.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted out.

A muffled sound came from the room to their left, and taking two large steps, Dean walked to the doorframe. What he saw inside caused Dean's blood to run cold through his body. Sam sat tied and gagged in a chair; his button down shirt completely undone revealing a cut up chest and stomach. Blood ran cleanly down onto his brother's jeans and Dean's heart skipped a beat as he saw silent tears of pain marking their way down Sam's face.

The spirit of Aaron Martin now stood behind Sam; his knife pointed at the younger Winchester's throat.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean swallowed, "I'm here."

Sam's eyes were wide as he stared at his brother.

"Oh my God…" the whisper from behind him reminded Dean that he wasn't the only rescuer there.

Dean pointed the gun at Aaron, "One of us isn't getting out of here alive. And seeing as how you're dead already, I'm guessing it's going to be you."

Dean paused a moment, giving Sam a look. Slowly Sam nodded his head, Dean echoing the movement.

Keeping a steady aim on the spirit the hunter turned his head partially to Chantal and whispered, "Just don't hit me or Sam," he then shouted loudly out towards his brother, "_Duck!_" Sam pulled his head down as far as possible at the same time Dean squeezed off a round at the spirit. Aaron disappeared just in time and Dean took the time to bound fully into the room, and pull out a knife. Firstly the older brother pulled the gag out of Sam's mouth.

"Dean, look out!" Sam's first words pierced the air as a loud gush of wind blew through the room.

Dean swiveled around from his position on the floor to see Aaron once again reappearing in the room. Before he even had a chance to grab the shotgun, Chantal's machete sliced through the torso of the spirit.

"That's two I owe you," Dean grinned.

"Lets try not to make it three," Chantal half smiled, a scared expression planted on her face.

Dean laughed as he sliced through the final rope holding Sam to the chair. Cringing at the blood that still came down from his torso, Dean helped Sam into a standing position, supporting him securely with one arm while clutching the shotgun in the other.

"Alright, lets go," Dean quickly stating, hoping that Aaron would stay away for just a little longer.

His wish almost came true as the spirit showed itself once more outside in the clearing. A single shot from the shotgun hit Aaron square in the chest, sending it once again into a loud disappearing act. With Sam's hisses of pain piercing the air, the three started through the brush.

"Almost there Sam," Dean reassured.

Just as Dean was beginning to wonder which would happen first; his brother passing out, or Aaron reappearing, they broke through to the road. The first good luck of the night happened as they came out almost directly beside the car, and not wanting to drag his little brother around to the passenger side door, Dean simply opened the backseat and helped Sam sit.

"Watch out for Aaron," Dean instructed Chantal, "If you see him, yell."

"Ok," Chantal nodded and stood poised by the hood of the Impala.

Quickly Dean went to the trunk, opened it, and grabbed out an old bag which the brother's used to keep medical supplied in.

"Alright Sammy," Dean dreaded looking at the extent of Sam's injuries as he bent down in front of him, "How are you feeling?"

Sam gave a sarcastic smile, "Wonderful."

Dean relaxed slightly at this, "Can you stand?"

Sam wordlessly nodded and Dean moved back to let him stand. Clenching his jaw at the pain, Sam fully stretched out his injured body. Breathing deep, Dean pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, and poured it down the front of Sam's chest. Any other time, he may have laughed at the consequential soaking of the front of Sam's pants, but the large, harsh slice marks that became prominent at the rinsing away of the blood only caused Dean to feel worse.

"Damn it Sam…"

Sam looked down, "Just pack it up. It'll be fine; I'll clean it better back at the hotel."

"I think we should stop by the hospital dude," Dean shook his head as he held a large piece of gauze against the wounds.

"It's fine," Sam dismissed, "We have to get out of here right now before the bastard comes back."

"Sam, you're hurt," Dean packed on more of the gauze, "If that gets infected then--"

"--then at least we won't be dead from some knife happy spirit because you were playing nurse at the side of the road," Sam smiled fully now.

"Alright," Dean smirked as he stuck the gauze in place, "But if you die, I'm not going to your funeral."

"That's ok-- I didn't go to yours," Sam winced at the pressure.

"Ok," Dean cleared his emotions as he looked back over to Chantal, "You can get in now, and we can get the hell away from here."

Both driver and passenger got into the car moments before Dean sped down the dew stricken highway. Wanting to check Sam out properly as soon as possible, Dean wasted no time in finding out where Chantal wanted to be dropped off, and less than half an hour after leaving their secluded spot on the highway they sat in front of a nice looking house.

Dean turned towards the woman who he wished he had met on any other night, "…thank you Chantal."

"No," Chantal shook her head, "I didn't do anything but watch you save my life."

"And my brother's," Dean added in, "And you helped in that one. You are an amazing woman; I just wish you didn't have to find out about all of this to find _that_ out."

"It's a good thing I found out," Chantal smiled at both Dean and then Sam.

Sam frowned, "How do you mean?"

Chantal looked sincere as she spoke, "Because now I know that there are people like you out there protecting everyone else from the bad guys. You're just like a real life Superman…"

It was two and a half hours later before the Winchester brother's were sitting relaxed in their hotel room. After having Dean put in nearly fifteen stitches and then showering, Sam felt much better; a relief to the older brother who finally let himself relax.

Carefully Sam laid down on the bed, "Remind me not to pick up any hitchhikers."

Dean rolled his eyes as he glanced over at his bare-chested brother, "How are you feeling? You alright?"

Sam nodded, "I'll be fine. He had only just started to have fun when you two showed up."

Dean tried not to visualize what would have happened if they'd showed up any later, "Yeah, well that Chantal chick-- she was rocking that machete."

"Yeah, she looked like she knew what she was doing," Sam agreed, "It's just weird about what she said. Being glad she knew," Sam laughed lightly, "Apparently we're like Superman."

"No, no, no little brother," Dean flicked on the television, "_We_ aren't like Superman. _I'm_ like Superman. You're Lois Lane."

The End.


	74. Strangers

_Disclaimer: To be technical all the words in this story are mine... I could be talking about a different Sam and Dean, and everything that happens may just coincidently be like the show Supernatural. Not gonna work huh? _

_A/N: Howdy people. I meant to post this last night when I got home from work, but a nice thunderstorm stopped my persuits. So I'm posting it today before I go to work. As for last chapter-- three reviews-- actually not bad after a four month hiatus. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this one! _

* * *

_Title: Strangers  
Genre: Umm... it's hard to pick a genre... pretty much just supernatural.  
Summary: After visiting an old wearhouse, the Winchester's return to their hotel room where suddenly Dean has no idea who Sam is._

Strangers

Dean sighed heavily as he tossed his bag onto one of the two beds in the hotel room, "This is really going to piss me off Sam."

"I know," Sam let out his own sigh as he sat on his bed.

"That was the right place, I know it was!" Dean said exasperated.

"I know."

"We looked around for three fricken hours, and nothing," Dean paced over to the counter to put on a pot of coffee, "We've been searching the area for the past week!"

"I know."

"Dude!" Dean swung around to Sam, "You stopped being funny about fifteen years ago."

Sam smiled at this, "You really hate not catching the bad guys, don't you?"

"Damn right," Dean leaned against the counter facing Sam, "That place was in Dad's journal, there was stories about it in the news, but there was nothing there."

"I wouldn't say nothing," Sam motioned to a bruise forming on Dean's hand, "Something smashed you against that wall."

Dean had forgotten about his minor injury, "Oh right."

"We'll just relax tonight and go back tomorrow," Sam suggested, "Maybe we'll be able to find something when it's light out."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean gave in, "We can just--"

Suddenly the lights in the hotel started to flicker violently and both brother's froze.

"Sam…?" Dean spoke quietly, "Is that you?"

"No," Sam reached into his nearby bag and pulled out a silver bulleted pistol, "It's not me."

The flickering lights continued on, being joined by a slow shaking of the room which caused random items to fall off the shelves and counter. Dean grabbed hold of the table, and tried to keep an eye on Sam all the while.

"Sam!"

"Where is it?!" Sam cried out at the suddenly loud noise cracking through the room.

Just as quickly as it came, silence enveloped the room, and the lights remained steadily on. Sam stood, holding the gun in his hand as he stared around the room.

"Dean…" Sam spoke quietly glancing over at his brother, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Whoa," Dean's eyes were wide as he put out his hands defensively towards Sam, "Easy buddy, just-just put down the gun."

"What?" Sam frowned.

Dean took a large step back and crashed into the counter, "P-Put the gun down."

"Dean, are you ok?" Sam asked carefully as he placed the gun on the bed.

"Who's Dean?" the voice was small and sounded almost frightened.

Sam's hand came up to his mouth, "…oh no…"

"Just leave me alone," Dean inched his way towards the door, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Dean, just--"

"Don't call me Dean!" Dean shouted this as he got even closer to the door, "Just-- leave me alone buddy."

"It took your memory," Sam's brain rushed with realization, "It was there the whole time with us. It took your memory."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean opened the door, "I'm just going to go now. Stay away from me, I won't call the police and we can pretend this never happened."

"What?" Sam frowned, having been momentarily lost in his own thoughts of the demon.

Dean slowly shook his head, "I don't know what kind of stuff you're into buddy… but I'm… I'm not into it, and I'm going to just go."

"We're _brothers!_" Sam cried out in disbelief at the now closed door.

Realization of the fact that Dean was leaving clued Sam into what he should do as he ran out the door in pursuit. Dean had parked the Impala directly in front of the door, and as Sam got out there, he now saw him leaning inside the front door reaching for something with eagerness.

"Dean, wait!" Sam called out, "We need to figure this out."

"The only thing I gotta figure out is how to get the hell out of here," Dean now spoke up as he emerged from the car with a pistol in hand.

"Whoa," Sam mimicked Dean's movements from inside as he now put his hands up defensively, "Dean, just cool it. There was a demon, and it took your memory, that's why you don't know anything right now. We have to go back and--"

"Shut-up!" Dean roared, "Just… you're not so cool now when I have the gun are you? Tell me what you did to me."

"I didn't do anything," Sam insisted, "Please Dean, you have to trust me."

"I'm not going to trust somebody who was holding me at gunpoint in some hotel called…" Dean leaned back to see the name of the place they were at, "Sleep E-Z Hotel?"

"Put the gun down," Sam took a step forward.

"No!" Dean yelled out again as he took the keys from his pocket and sat in the car, "I'm going to leave, and you are going to stay here. Or I'm going to put a bullet through that head of yours."

Sam sighed in frustration then as he could only watch his brother start up the car and pull out at a high speed. Moving quickly, the hunter went back into the hotel room and grabbed a few necessity items and shoved them in a bag. Rather than try and find and catch Dean, Sam had another plan.

"I need to get back to the place," Sam muttered, swining the bag over his shoulder and walking outside into the night air.

The Sleep E-Z Hotel wasn't exactly the classiest of places in the town they stayed in, and so Sam managed to find an old beat up car that would be easy to take. Within fifteen minutes he was speeding down the road towards the large abandoned warehouse that the brother's had visited earlier in the evening. The nearly full moon shone down on Sam as he got out of the car and looked around.

"Alright!" Sam yelled loudly, "I know you're here you bastard!"

Keeping his eye on the silent building, Sam took out his bag from the passenger side seat, and grabbed a silver bulleted pistol from inside. It made Sam feel uneasy as this was the only form of weapon that he had on him. All of the other weapons including the shotguns and rock salt bullets were inside the Impala. He just hoped that whatever it was that was causing all of the trouble would be taken care of by a silver bullet.

"Alright you son of a bitch," Sam mumbled as he walked inside the building.

Sam's grip on the gun tightened as he walked down the dark hallways splashed in random moonlight. Everything was quiet as it had been when he and Dean checked it out earlier, though Sam knew that they were seriously wrong. Something had taken Dean's memory, and that something was inside the building.

"Hey!" Sam yelled out again as he got to the point where Dean had been mysteriously pushed, "Show yourself!"

"Fine," the voice sounded bored and Sam spun around to see a man standing there who looked like he could have worked at the local bank.

Sam aimed his gun at the man, "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm Sebastian, and Dean is probably somewhere between here and the next town over by now," Sebastian leaned easily against the wall.

Sam slowly shook his head, "Who are you?"

"I'm Sebastian," the man's eyes flashed black, "I'm a Memory Demon. Kind of a lame name, I know."

Sam cocked the gun, "What did you do to my brother?"

"Dean?" Sebastian's nonchalant attitude was quickly getting on Sam's nerves, "I stole him. Or at least his memories. I know everything that he ever knew."

Sam swallowed hard, "Give it back to him, or--"

"Or you'll shoot me?" Sebastian looked excited at the idea, "Please do. Because if you shoot me, your brother's soul goes along."

The thought hadn't occurred to Sam that if he killed the demon, he would also be killing his brother, or at least what made Dean; his memories and thoughts.

"What do you want from me?" Sam asked as calmly as possible.

"Pointing your little toy in another direction would be a start," Sebastian motioned to the gun, "Secondly-- I want you to leave Sarah alone."

Sam scrunched up his forehead, "Sarah?"

"_Don't play dumb!_" Sebastian suddenly shouted in anger, pinning Sam against a wall.

Sam gasped as the breath left his body, "It's the truth…"

"You and your stupid brother have been hunting Sarah for the past week," Sebastian continued to hold Sam easily against the wall with one hand.

"No…" Sam shook his head, "No… we've been hunting you."

"Rule one short stop-- know who you're hunting," Sebastian stepped back; letting Sam stand on his own, "Sarah has been here for the past three years, and then you two decided to come and mess things up a bit."

"Than what are you doing here? Why did you hurt Dean?" Sam questioned.

Sebastian stared blankly back at Sam, "Are you a little slow there buddy, or did Mommy and Daddy give you the sheltered life? Sarah is mine, and if you don't leave her alone I will make sure that whatever is left of your life will be hell."

Sam momentarily forgot about the danger of the situation as a smile itched at his face, "You… and Sarah?"

"Yeah," Sebastian held up his hand, sparks shooting between the fingers, "You got a problem with that."

"No," Sam shook his head, "And we'll leave-- just… give my brother back his memory."

"You won't come back?" Sebastian asked skeptically, "And you won't send any of your little boy scout friends to come here?"

"No," Sam eagerly agreed, "No, we'll leave, and we'll send no other hunters this way. Sarah wasn't hurting anyone, we know that. She was just… scaring people."

"You hunters seem to think that we're all bad, and we're all out to hurt everyone," Sebastian's eyes rolled into the back of his head momentarily as he raced through Dean's memories, "Like that pack of vampires you two hunted. Not all things are evil Sammy."

"Please," Sam swallowed, "Just… please. We'll leave."

Sebastian stepped closer until his face was directly by Sam's ear and he whispered, "So what's it feel like?"

"What?"

Sebastian smiled, "To be scared."

Instantly the image of Sebastian disappeared and Sam was left alone in the warehouse. Breathing deep he rushed outside and looked around at the cool night, not sure what he wanted to see. The silence was interrupted as Sam's cell phone rang from inside his pocket. Jumping at the sound of it, Sam pulled out the phone and looked down at the word on the display screen.

'_Dean_'

Mumbling a quick cuss word, Sam smiled and pressed to answer, "Dean?"

"Sam, where the hell are you?!" Dean's voice shot out.

"I'm at the warehouse, but I'll meet you back at the hotel," Sam stated, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Sam could sense the panic in Dean's voice, "You?"

"I'm fine," Sam reassured, "Just meet me back at the hotel."

Sam reached the questionable sleeping resort nearly fifteen minutes before Dean, and was just about to call his brother when he heard the Impala pull up to in front of the door. Getting up from the bed he'd been relaxing on, Sam met Dean at the door.

"Dude, what the hell happened?" Dean immediately asked as he walked in, eyes wide.

Sam smiled and took Dean's arm to help pull him fully into the room, "Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah," Dean brushed his hand through his short hair, "Sam, all I remember is the room shaking, and then suddenly I was sitting in the car driving down some random highway with my pistol sitting where you usually are. What happened?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh, "There was a memory demon at the warehouse. It took your memory, and you had no clue who the hell I was."

Dean looked down at the gun which he now held in his hand, "I didn't…"

"No, but you were definitely thinking about it," again Sam smirked.

"So what happened?" Dean placed the gun down and sat on one of the beds.

"I went down to the place we were at, and the bastard showed himself," Sam tried to explained, "Apparently this memory demon Sebastian had a thing with the actual spirit we were hunting. It said if we left them alone, it would give back your memory."

"And you agreed?" Dean still looked wearily at Sam.

"Dude, isn't that kind of obvious?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Again Dean sighed and washed his hand over his face, "Alright," he looked at Sam, "Did it hurt you at all?"

Sam held up his arms, "I'm fine."

Dean smiled slightly and flopped backwards on the bed, "So I guess we look for a new gig."

"Yeah," Sam agreed letting out his own sigh of relief.

"But next time," Dean grinned as he glanced sideways at his little brother, "You get to be the damsel in distress."

The End.


	75. Somewhere Dark

_Disclaimer: It's gonna start taking me longer to think of ways to say no than it will to write a one shot soon... _

_A/N: Wow-- reviews from you guys is like fricken drugs! Haha, I forgot how much I missed coming onto this site and reading what you all have to say about my stories-- it always makes me smile! Tonight's story is one that I just finished about two hours ago, and is a wee-chester one... I hadn't written one of those in a long while. So I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks! _

* * *

_Title: Somewhere Dark  
Genre: Suspense  
Summary: Eleven year old Sam is trapped in a dark, soundless basement with two spirits intent on making him their next victim._

Somewhere Dark

Eleven year old Sam squeezed him self into a ball against the corner and shut his eyes tight. White dots began to dance in front of the closed eyes, but Sam still knew where he was, and what was happening. Daring to move, Sam brought his hands up to his ears and cupped them tightly in an attempt to keep all sound out.

It was all stupid anyways.

Even if Sam had his eyes wide open, he wouldn't be able to see anything in the pitch black room, and if his hands were away from his ears all he would have heard was silence. The thing inside the room with him was bidding it's time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and the pre-teen knew that. He'd only been hunting and training for three years now, but already he knew how evil worked. Though this was the first time he ever remembered being this scared of it.

'_Sammy, stay with your brother, and be careful,_' John had given the usually command when they went anywhere new to scope out a job.

Dean had many more years experience, and so would be the one to look out for Sam while hunting. John would take care of the actual piece of evil, but the brother's would help back him up and do the research. Sam liked the research part-- he got to stay at the library for hours at a time looking up history on interesting things and people. Because of this, and the fact that both Dean and John were immensely protective of the youngest, Sam ended up doing more research than any hands on.

This time was different.

John had found what appeared to be a simple restless spirit attached to a house, and gathered his sons and some supplies and headed towards the large house. He gave the instruction to Dean to search the main floor and basement, and for Sam to stay with him while he went to the second and third floor. Sam did stay with Dean as they wandered the main floor. The brother's were just headed down into the basement when everything happened so quickly.

Sam felt someone shove him down the stairs, while at the same time Dean was flung back into the main floor while the door separating the two was slammed and locked shut. The lights in all of the house flickered off, and a bruised and hurting Sam then crawled aimlessly until he hit the wall. As he continued to now clutch his hands desperately over his ears he realized it was the silence and darkness that scared him the most. The absence of the sound or sight of his brother or Dad coming to save him caused tears to warmly prickle at his eyes.

A cold breeze blew against Sam's face, brushing back his wavy brown hair. His heart hammering against the inside of his chest, Sam pushed back the fear and slowly pulled away his hands and opened his eyes to the darkness. With a shaking hand, he reached for the silver pocket knife that his Dad had given him for his tenth birthday.

"I know you're here," Sam's voice came out clear and steady, seeming to echo across the room.

A loud laugh shot out in the darkness followed quickly by another brush of cold air. Trembling, Sam stood to his feet, his left hand feeling the cement wall blindly behind him. It was cool and damp to the touch, and Sam wished dearly that he could see _something_. Instead the windowless basement remained a blind prison as Sam continued to also try and hear any sign of his family up above.

"Show yourself!" Sam cried out, his head thumping with his voice.

At this, Sam moved his hand to the base of his forehead, and felt something warm and sticky. This didn't help his quickly mounting fear as the hunter's eyes darted around for any visual sign of the spirit. Like a denser darkness, a black mist swirled around before the eleven year olds face before shooting down into a body that Sam hadn't even noticed.

Screaming, Sam slammed up against the wall, ignoring the pain at the solid crack of his head against solid concrete. The body which had been laying in the darkness now stood up in front of Sam, and turned on a small flashlight in its hand. This sent a shot of light out that gave Sam a glimpse of his surroundings, and, too his horror, the view of another person walking towards him. Both were female, one dressed casually in jeans and a blood soaked t-shirt, and one dressed in a white skirt and a ripped bloodied tank top. Both had shinning black eyes.

"What do you want?" Sam kept himself flat against the wall, his knife once again out in front of him.

"We're here to play a game," the one in the skirt spoke with an English accent, and turned to the other girl, "Aren't we Laura?"

"Not a game Elizabeth," Laura, too spoke with a soft English accent, "More of a… test."

"Just leave me alone, please," Sam tried not to beg, remembering the training his Dad taught him.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth frowned, "I'm afraid we can't do that. Because you see, you came to us, and now we have to show you something."

Laura pulled out a lighter, "Have you ever been burnt before?"

"No," Sam shook his head slowly, "My-my Dad and my brother are just upstairs! They'll send you back to hell."

"Probably," Elizabeth agreed, "But that just gives us all the more reason to kill you Love."

"Nobody else cared," Laura grinned, "At least not once it was over."

Sam's brain suddenly clicked into the research he'd done on the area, "You… I know who you are! This house was where a whole bunch of kids were found dead about three years ago. They were burnt-- it was you, wasn't it?"

"Smart child," Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as she played with a flashlight in her hands, "Too smart."

Again Sam leaned flat against the wall, the blood dripping down his forehead. John had only begun to seriously train his youngest boy, wanting to start out slow at first. Almost everyday Sam and Dean would train together, and Sam found himself enjoying it more and more. Now those training reflexes came back as in a split second Sam had lunged at Elizabeth, stabbing his knife into her stomach. A loud scream escaped her mouth followed by darkness as she dropped the flashlight.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, "Dad!"

Moving as quickly as possible Sam scrambled for the stairs. Tripping on the bottom stair with a solid thump, Sam heard the demons moving off in the distance as he climbed up the wooden planked stairs.

"Dean!" Sam shouted out again.

This time he got a response to his cry in the form of a bang against the door. Two things happened very suddenly then as the door burst open at the top of the stairs, and Sam looked down to see that the demon had once again caught up with him.

"Sammy, run!" Dean's cry came from the top of the stairs.

Using his hands to help climb up, Sam scampered up the second half of the stairs in seconds, jumping through the doorway just as it slammed shut again. Suddenly it was bright, and Sam was facing the wall, his hands out in front of him to stop his momentum.

"Sammy," Dean gasped.

"Sam…" the second voice belonged to his Dad and was followed by someone placing their hands on his shoulder.

The youngest hunter was turned around to face his family.

"It's ok," Sam immediately said, "I'm ok."

"No you're not," John immediately said to his youngest before turning to Dean, "Take him outside, I'll take care of down there."

"But Dad--" Sam began but was interrupted.

"Sammy go," John paused a moment to place a hand on the side of Sam's face and wipe the blood with his thumb, "Please."

Silently Sam nodded his head, and Dean grabbed his arm to hurry him outside. A few moments after they were out of view, the brother's heard two quick shots from a shotgun, and Sam stopped.

"C'mon Sam, it's ok," Dean reassured, "Dad's got it handled."

Again Dean pulled on Sam's arm and lead him out to the front of the house where the sun was slowly setting off in the horizon. Immediately Sam went to the ground and sat in the grassy yard.

Dean bent down to in front of him, "God… Sam, look at me." Sam did as he was told and Dean saw the blood that ran down his face and caused his hair to stick out in clumps, "I'm sorry Sammy."

"I'm ok," Sam took a deep breath to try and force the words true.

Gently Dean pulled back the hair to look at the small gash, "Does it hurt?"

This got a small laugh out of Sam, "That's a stupid question."

Dean smirked, "You're a stupid question."

Sam rolled his eyes and brought his hand up to his forehead, wincing as he did so. Spotting the sticky blood that came back on his fingers Sam swallowed back the fear that he'd forced away.

"Are you alright?" Dean spoke in a quiet voice.

"Yeah…" Sam bit back the continued tears of fear; ashamed to tell of the utmost horror he felt in the dark and silent basement.

"I'm so sorry," Dean scrunched up his eyebrows in a vain attempt to keep in his emotions, "I should have… done something."

Sam shook his head, "There was nothing you could have done. They separated us."

"Sam!" John's voice pierced the air as he came through the front door.

In a flash John had made it to his son and crouched down to be at eye level with the injured one.

"Sammy, look up at me," John repeated the same instructions that Dean had asked.

Being slightly more rough than his son had been, John pulled back the hair and took a look at he injury. Guilt rushed through him as a million thoughts of what he could have done to prevent this occurred to him.

"How bad does it hurt?" John questioned.

"Not too bad," Sam admitted truthfully, trying to get the sensation of being alone in the dark out of his mind.

"Follow my finger," John remained crouched to the ground and now moved a finger in front of Sam's face.

"Dad, I'm fine," Sam insisted, a sudden urge to act unafraid washing over him.

"C'mon," John stood to his feet and reached a hand down to help Sam up to his feet, "We'll go back home, and I'll clean up that head of yours, ok? If it needs it, I'll put a few stitches in it, but I want you to tell me if you feel like you're going to be sick or anything like that."

"Ok Dad," Sam agreed, "Thanks."

John rubbed Sam's shoulder as the three headed to the car, "You did good Sammy."

Once to the Impala, Dean got into the front seat as John packed the trunk with the guns and ammo. Sam carefully got into the backseat, forcing his heart rate and breathing to normal, a continued guilty feeling at being a wimp washing through him.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean spoke softly from the front seat.

"Yeah?"

"It's ok," Dean smiled slightly, "I was afraid of the dark when I was younger too…"

The End.


	76. Fear

_Disclaimer: Seriously, I've been sitting staring at the computer for five minutes thinking of a cool way to say no... _

_A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry it's a bit late-- I've been busy... but I'll have some free time for the next couple of days. Not that I have too many readers left, haha, three reviews for the last story. This one shot is one that I got the idea from when I was watching the episode with the killer clowns. I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: Fear  
Genre: Ok, I tried for horror, but it's basically more angst and suspense.  
Summary: Sam and Dean go after a demon that takes a person to their worst fear._

Fear

"This dumb Sam," Dean frowned as he pulled the Impala to a stop outside the motel, "Really incredibly dumb."

"Then you stay here," Sam shrugged, "I'll do this on my own. Either way this demon is killing people and one of us has to stop it."

Dean opened up the car door and walked to the trunk; the rain splattering onto his head, "Isn't there another way to kill this thing? I mean, why do we have to summon it to us?"

"Because having the demon within sight usually helps in the killing it process," Sam responded flatly.

Dean sighed as he gathered items from the car, "Ok-- give me the low down again."

Sam sighed as water dripped down his face, "Dude, can we at least get _out_ of the rain?"

Dean shoved a bag at Sam's stomach, smiling at the grunt it caused from the younger hunter, "Gonna melt Sammy?"

"C'mon," Sam moved ahead to the door, unlocked it and went inside.

"Alright," Dean plopped down his own bag onto the bed, "So this thing is called Formido?"

"Yep," Sam pulled out some papers, "Roughly, it means 'source of fear' in Latin."

"Dude, who the hell named all these things?" Dean walked over to his brother, "Why can't they just called it Demon of Fear, instead of making up--"

"Easy Dean," Sam smirked, "We have to get to work."

"Alright, alright," Dean gave in, "So we have to summon this thing to us. But when we do, it'll stick us into our worst fears, right?"

Sam took a deep breath, "…yeah. But that's the only way to kill the thing. It'll only appear in the visions it makes happen."

"Great," Dean ran his hand down his face, "So what… we'll be transported to a plane filled with clowns?"

Sam laughed, "Something like that I'm sure. You just gotta make sure you _don't panic_. The more the fear gets a hold of you, the more powerful this thing becomes."

"Of course it does," Dean groaned, "Alright, lets summon this bitch."

"You got a weapon?" Sam asked.

"Silver bullets," Dean grinned holding up a pistol, "That should do it."

"Yup," Sam tucked his own gun into the rim of his pants and took out a book, "You ready?"

Dean silently nodded as Sam began to read a summoning spell from the text. It took less than a minute before Sam finished; a small breeze blowing through the room at the end.

"Ok," Dean whispered, his gun clutched in his hand, "Did it work?"

"I think so," Sam placed the book down and took out his own gun again, "I mean… there was the whole wind thing."

Dean smirked and looked apprehensively at the door, "Should we check it out?"

"Yeah, just… be careful," Sam could feel his heartbeat already quickening.

"Yeah," Dean opened the door and took a step outside.

Immediately the door slammed shut behind him, and Dean swung around to see if Sam had made it through. He hadn't. Slowly, knowing exactly what he'd see, Dean turned back around, and found himself standing near the emergency exit of a plane.

"Oh crap," Dean whispered as he quickly shoved his gun out of view.

Random people looked towards Dean from their seats as the plane shook with turbulence. Dean smiled nervously at them as he looked around. He was, indeed, inside a plane where numerous people sat calmly in their seats.

"Sam," Dean whispered, looking around, "_Sam!_"

Sam was nowhere in sight, and realizing that he was in his fear, Dean made his way down the isle with his legs feeling like rubber. Another jolt of turbulence shook the plane causing Dean to squeeze his eyes shut.

Suddenly someone's hand was placed on Dean's shoulder, "I'm sorry Sir, but you'll have to take your seat. The plane is having some troubles."

"W-What?" Dean breathed looking over at the stewardess as the plane shook even more.

"The plane has lost an engine sir," the stewardess spoke as if this were an everyday thing, "We may crash. You need to sit in your seat, put your trays down, and put your seat to an upright position."

"I-I… don't have a seat," Dean stumbled, swallowing back the lump in his throat as he clutched tightly onto the seat of a person beside him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay standing up then sir," the stewardess shook her head, "Which is a shame… this is going to get bad."

-§-

"_Dean!_" Sam screamed out.

Everything had gone black as soon as Dean walked through the door, it slamming shut before the younger brother could get through. Everything was dark now as Sam stood still, his heart pounding viciously inside him.

"Dean…" Sam whispered, "Please, please… please…"

Suddenly a red light shone in the center of the room which was now stripped of anything resembling the hotel. For a moment Sam just stared as a small giggle echoed and bounced off the unseen walls.

'_And if you should die before you wake…_'

The voice rung out at the same moment a large, nearly seven foot clown walked in from the shadows. Baggy black, white and gray material hung limply down its skeletal body. Long fingered hands pulled through at the end of the arms with sharp, rotting fingernails ominously sticking out at horrid angles. Black hair hung down like dry hay from the clowns head that fell to just above its shoulders, and then Sam was forced to look at the face. White make-up covered everywhere except for an erratically animated red mouth which reached from nearly one ear to the other in a sinister grin. Black circles covered the already darkened eyes, and a bright red foam nose finished off the sickening look.

"Oh no," Sam clenched his fists in anger, "Couldn't you have picked a different one!"

"Come play Sammy," the clown's face spread widely, "I want to play."

Sam let out a slow breath, "…I bet you do…"

'_Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…_'

Sam repeated the words over and over again in his mind all to no avail as his heart pounded harder and harder in his chest. Ever since he could remember he'd been terrified of clowns-- why he wasn't sure, but with a small smirk he had a feeling it had something to do with Dean hiding in the closet and scaring him while dressed as a clown when they were little. Either way, the one standing before him caused Sam's throat to tighten painfully and his palms to sweat.

"I-I know what you are," Sam swallowed past the dryness in his mouth, "It won't work."

"I think you're wrong there Sammy," a smile that spread to each ear, "Fear is an uncontrollable response to something. And I know exactly what those something's are for you and your pathetic brother."

Sam found himself slowly sinking down to the ground, his eyes subconsciously shutting to block out the image of the insane clown which closed in on him.

"What's wrong Sam?" the voice of Dean caused Sam's eyes to shoot open in excitement.

"Dean!?" Sam was to his feet in an instant, staring at his brother standing motionless in front of him, "What? How did you get here?"

"I have something I want to talk to you about," Dean's face was deadpan and serious, "I've been holding it back a long time, but I think it's time that you knew. Please listen."

"What is it?" Sam frowned.

"It's your fault," Dean looked disappointed, "Everything. Mom dying, Dad dying… even your girlfriend. It's your fault Sammy… I'm sorry."

"No," Sam gasped, "No… Dean, why are you saying this?"

Dean placed a comforting hand on Sam's arm, "Because it's true Sam."

-§-

"_No!_" Dean screamed, his hands over his head as the plane plummeted towards the earth bellow, "No!"

The passengers around him screamed in unison causing even more panic to shoot through Dean. He knew what was happening; that none of it was real, but he couldn't convince his brain of this important fact.

"_We're going to crash!_" a passenger's cry broke through the noise.

Dean gasped in, his eyes squeezed shut at the thought that a demon was finally going to win, and all because of his stupid fear of flying. He could feel his body sliding down the isle at the angle the plane was now plummeting in as the screams of the other passengers and himself blended into one.

Then it stopped.

"Given up already Dean?" the voice was calm and mocking.

Slowly Dean dared to open his eyes, and found himself in a brightly lit room with a single door on the far side. A small table stood in front of him with a pistol placed neatly on top. A man stood by the door, wearing a simple attire of jeans and a white t-shirt. His light brown hair struck out in contrast to the shinning black eyes.

"You," Dean stood to his feet, "You're what's causing all of this."

"Yes," the demon nodded and gestured towards the gun, "Please… finish me off."

Dean frowned and picked up the gun, "It's too easy."

"Yes," again the demon nodded easily.

"Where's Sam?" Dean keep his eyes on the piece of evil.

The demon shrugged, "Around."

"I want to see him," Dean's breath came deep, "Now."

"No," a smile creep to its face, "You'll have to kill me first."

"Fine," Dean cocked the gun and before he knew what he'd done, shot the demon in the chest.

A gasp came as it bent down to the ground in pain. A small flutter shot through Dean; didn't demon's usually do something else?

"D-Dean…" a gasp came from the demon's hunched over body, and slowly Dean took a step forwards.

"Oh God," Dean dropped the gun in shock as he stared down at the body.

Sam now lay where the demon had been, blood pooling under his shirt from the bullet wound.

"W-Why Dean?" Sam gasped, his eyes wide.

"No, no, no…" Dean fell to his knees beside his brother, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Sammy, I didn't mean… it was the demon, and… no, please."

"It hurts," silent tears fell down Sam's face as Dean clutched him close.

"It's ok, it'll be ok," Dean pulled his outer shirt off and pressed it towards the wound, "I didn't mean to hurt you Sammy."

Sam's pain filled eyes stared up at Dean has a small trickle of blood came from the youngest hunter's mouth. Dean stared, horrorstricken as Sam's breath slowed down and his body became limp.

"No, please Sam! Please, just hang on…" tears crept down Dean's face, "…please…"

Sam's eyes softly closed as he took his last breath. Dean sunk his face into his brother's hair, the tears falling uncontrollably. Finally he moved back, looking down at his blood soaked hands.

"I'm so sorry Sammy," Dean gasped out, and leaned over to pick up the gun, "I-I didn't mean to…"

Hands trembling, Dean picked up the gun, and staring at Sam's dead body on the floor, cocked it. Closing his eyes shut, Dean slowly brought the gun towards his temple.

"_Dean, no!_" a sudden voice broke through the silence.

Dean's eyes shot open to see the interior of the motel room. Sam lunged towards him, and grabbed the gun that was still held in Dean's hand. Breathing deep, Dean looked around at everything, trying to register where he was and what had happened.

"Sam…" Dean managed to whisper out.

"Hey, yeah," Sam bent down in front of Dean, "I'm here. Are you alright?"

Dean put out a hand and clutched Sam's arm, closing his eyes briefly at the surge of emotions. It had all been a trick… the demon had played into Dean's greatest fear.

Killing Sam.

"Dean?" Sam spoke softly.

"Yeah," Dean's voice cracked, "Yeah, I'm alright. How about you?"

Sam sat fully on the floor across from Dean, "Besides waking up to see you trying to shoot yourself in the head, I'm fine."

Dean smiled apologetically, "Sorry… that bastard knew what buttons to push."

Sam laughed, "No kidding."

"What happened to you?" Dean looked at Sam carefully.

Nervously Sam avoided eye contact, "Umm… well, there was the given… a stupid clown. And… you."

"You're scared of me dude?" Dean half laughed.

"No," Sam rolled his eyes, "You were telling me that it was my fault. That it was because of me that Mom and Dad died."

"It wasn't," Dean cut in barely before Sam could finished.

"I know," Sam softly spoke, then cleared his throat before continuing, "So what about you?"

Dean shrugged, "Just an airplane that decided it didn't want to stay in the air."

"And that caused you to try and kill yourself?" Sam suspiciously asked.

"Dude, you pick; crashing into the ground in a fiery ball of fire at two hundred miles an hour, or a simple shot to the head," Dean defended, then quickly asked "So what killed this thing?"

"Oh," Sam paused a moment, sensing Dean was lying, "It was me. I figured out that you weren't you and that it was actually the demon so I put a clip through it."

"How'd you know it wasn't me?"

Sam smiled sincerely at his brother,"Because you'd never tell me that."

The End.


	77. The Winchester's Plus One?

_Disclaimer: I bet if I tried hard enough I could make this disclaimer longer than this story... no? _

_A/N: Hey y'all! I'm busy tonight, but wanted to post something anyways, so I dug through my computer and found an old drabble that I'd done. It's really kindda short, though may make you smile and give you something to read for about a minute. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Title: The Winchester's... Plus One?  
Genre: Really kindda humor.  
Summary: This was a 300 word drabble that had to have the line 'You are not bringing that filthy thing home'... so I created it into a WeeChester fic where all Sam wants is a pet._

The Winchester's... Plus One?

"It's housetrained!"

"It just peed on the floor Sam!"

"It can do tricks!"

"It's a turtle!"

"Yeah, and it can make itself disappear!"

"You're going to disappear if you even think of keeping that thing in the house," John turned fully towards his six year old son who was holding onto a scared looking turtle.

"I'll take care of it," Sam gave his best puppy dog look.

"No," John firmly stated, "Now go take it out back. When Dean comes home from his friends house, you two are taking it to the swamp."

"So… it's my pet until then?" Sam grinned.

"_Now_ Sam," John tried his hardest to keep the laughter from his voice.

Sighing deeply Sam walked through the house to the backdoor. Plopping himself on the grass, he placed the turtle on the ground.

"C'mon Green," Sam poked the shell, "You can come out now. Dad's done yell'n." Cautiously the turtle stuck its head out and Sam continued, "It's not that he doesn't like you, it's just that he likes clean floors better. You shouldn't'a peed right when I said you were housetrained-- it would'a looked better," Sam paused, "Maybe if I ask real nice he'll change his mind."

Carefully Sam got to his feet, and keeping his eye on the turtle, walked to the door, opened it and called in, "Hey Dad…!"

"You are _not_ brining that filthy thing home, and that's final!" John called out.

Sam sighed and walked back over to the turtle. Fifteen minutes later the back door opened up and Dean walked over.

"Hey Sam," the ten year old crouched down, "I heard Dad won't let you have a pet."

"Yeah," Sam frowned.

"That's ok. We already got one."

"Who?" Sam frowned.

Dean grinned widely, "You Sammy."

The End.

* * *


	78. Maybe One Day We'll Wake Up

_Disclaimer: There's only so many ways you can say no, and still hold the attention of the readers. _

_A/N: Hiya everyone! Ok, so I can't believe I'm doing this... I have a few one shots started that I'm going to work on in the coming days, but I wanted to post something tonight, and it's finally come down to this... posting this one shot that I have tonight. This was one of my very first one shots that I ever wrote... at least two years ago. I knew it sucked then, and I know it sucks now, so I had always had it just sitting on my comptuer-- long forgotten and ignored. But tonight I am desperate for something new to give you all to read, so I am going to give it to you. Haha, please be kind...  
(two added notes... one is that i'm aware that this has sam knowing everything at 8... i wrote it long before the christmas episode. second thing is that this isn't supposed to be a death fic-- just pretend that john came home later on. thanks!)_

* * *

_Title: Maybe One Day We'll Wake Up  
Genre: Angst, sad and a bit of fluff.  
Summary: An unusually emotionally filled brother moment; the young Winchester's wait up one night for their Dad to come home._

Maybe One Day We'll Wake Up

The clock was above the tv in the small hotel room they were staying at. Dean liked it there because most of the time him and Sam would watch tv, and he could keep track of the time. Now, however, he wished that there was no clock at all in the place. Maybe then it wouldn't keep going; ticking by with fear. It was nearly midnight, and John was supposed to be home early that afternoon.

John Winchester was never late.

"Dean," eight year old Sam walked slowly into the living room.

"Sammy," Dean shifted around, "Hey kid, I thought you went to bed over two hours ago."

Sam shook his head before speaking, "Is Daddy home yet?"

With those four words Dean knew how upset his little brother was. Dean himself was almost thirteen, and could never remember calling their Dad 'Daddy', and Sam had long outgrown the habit. Except, the elder brother noticed, when he was sick or scared. It didn't take him long to figure out which it was this time.

"No, he's not."

Sam took a deep, shaking breath, "But he was supposed to be back this afternoon. That's what you said."

"I know," Dean's voice was soft as he tried to hide his own worry, "But… maybe he got held up."

"Maybe it got him," Sam sat on the couch beside Dean; who turned off the tv, "Remember? Dad said that it was something big. That was why both Uncle Bobby _and_ Caleb were going with him."

"I know," Dean agreed, thinking his words over carefully, "But they're all really good at this."

"Can't you call them?"

"No," Dean let Sam snuggle in against him, "Dad's phone broke on the last hunt he was on, and neither Caleb or Bobby have one. Dad says he doesn't like to phone anyways-- it's too risky."

"But if they're hurt," Sam's voice quivered, "If-If they're hurt… they'll call, right?"

Dean had no answer.

Internally he didn't want an answer. All his life Dean had been dreading this moment; this day. The day his Dad didn't come home from a hunt. John had warned him many times that it may happen; kept the thought fresh in the young boys head. He'd told Dean exactly what he had to do if he didn't come back one day, and for the life of him Dean couldn't remember a word of it now. Numbness had been filling his body as the hours went by, and he wished nothing more at that point than to see his Dad walk in through the door. He'd do anything to see that.

"I want Daddy to come home," Sam's small whisper came from beside him, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.

"I know Sammy."

"Can't we go find him?" Sam asked hopefully, "He's been training you a lot lately. I bet we could find him."

"No," Dean shook his head, "We just have to wait Sam."

"I don't want to wait," tears slowly crept down the eight year olds cheeks, "I want him back now. Please Dean…" Sam's whole body shook now, "Please… bring Dad back."

"Shh," Dean wasn't surprised to find tears coming down his own tired face, "Shh Sammy… it's going to be ok, I promise."

"No," Sam curled in closer to Dean, his eyes squeezed shut, "No… not without him. N-Not without Dad. Please Dean… I promise I'll be good…"

"Shh," the small comforting sound was all that Dean could make between his own fear and tears.

"I promise," Sam cried out.

Dean put his arm around Sam's body, and gently began to rub his arm; something that used to lull the young boy to sleep. For nearly a minute the two brother half lay on the couch in the silence, letting their fear and worry out.

"I-It's like a bad dream," Sam finally whispered, a small hiccough escaping his mouth.

"Shh Sammy, it's ok," Dean whispered, hearing his little brother sob himself to sleep, "…maybe one day we'll wake up."

The End.


	79. Limp Sam

_Disclaimer: Good God, I have to think up ways to say no again?_

_A/N: The yelling out surprise at the beginning of this is kind of redundant. Especially since this is the third story I've written since I went off hiatus. But- surprise! So I'm starting back up some of these one shots again mainly because I have a bit of a back up of them on my computer, haha. Okay, so right into this. This one shot I just finished thinking of, and writing all this afternoon. I know how lots of people love limp Sam and protective, worried Dean, and this includes me! Most people think that's the best part of stories. So this story is exactly as it sounds. It's basically Sam getting his ass kicked. So yeah- I hope you like it, and please, even though it's been a while- review! Thanks!_

* * *

_Title: Limp!Sam_  
_Genre: Angst_  
_Summary: There's not too terribly much of a plot in this story. Mainly it's just Sam getting whooped by a demon, and then Dean all worried and protective and everything like that._

Limp!Sam

"Sammy, _no!_" Dean screamed in horror as Sam's body was flung across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening thud, "I will kill you, you son of a bitch!

Vainly Dean pulled at the ropes which restrained him to the chair. The demon possessed man had taken every possible precaution when he tied Dean up; both legs and arms were immobile. He let Dean scream though. Seemed to enjoy every angst filled cry of fear as Dean watched his little brother come closer and closer to death right in front of his eyes.

"All you had to do was leave me alone," his black eyes were nearly the color of his chipped and rotting teeth as he smiled mockingly at the elder Winchester, "One more person was all I had to kill, and then I'd be gone for another eighty years. A life time… Sammy's lifetime."

"Don't call him that," the response was automatic, and Dean felt an immediate lump forming in his throat as his eyes shot over to Sam's lifeless body laying on the floor.

Casually the demon walked over to Sam, and crouched down. Dean's heart pounded viciously in his chest as he could only watch while the demon ran his hands gently through Sam's shaggy hair before finally grabbing a large fist full.

"Hear that," the demon whispered into Sam's ear as he lifted the hunter's head off the ground by simply his hair, "Big brother doesn't want me calling you Sammy."

"Chris…" Dean spoke, causing the black eyed piece of evil to turn it's head, "That who you're in, right? Who you are. Chris. Just let my brother go. Please."

Chris stood up, and swung his arm towards the ceiling. Sam's body reacted in echo, as he flew up five feet off the ground, his body hanging like a rag doll. Not even looking at the young hunter which continued to hang behind him, Chris walked towards Dean in the chair.

"Why would I do that?"

"_Please, I'm begging you!_" Dean felt the warm tears slowly build in his eyes; he'd been watching the torture for nearly fifteen minutes now, and was ready to break.

A sickening smile came to Chris as he stuck his face right into Dean's and whispered ominously into his ear, "…they all beg me."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was going to happen. The sound was bad enough, however, as he heard Sam's body crash painfully to the ground. Like in a numb trance, Dean slowly started to shake his head back and forth, his eyes staying shut to the world around him.

"_Just kill me, just kill me, just kill me…_" the whispered plea was not unheard by Chris, though only prompted another round of pleasurable laughter.

"You make this too easy Winchester," Chris called from the other side of the room, "If only it was this easy to break all of you self centered, egotistical hunters. If only-"

The less than a second between the demon's cut off sentence and the next sound that entered Dean's ears seemed like an eternity. Just enough time for Dean to feel the pit of coldness in his stomach to grow. Just enough time for him to open his eyes and look around the dimly lit room.

Just enough time for Bobby to burst through the doors; shotgun poised.

The experienced hunter had taken the shot before Dean or Chris fully appreciated the situation. Just as quickly as the sudden burst if sound interrupted the showdown, sending the demon bursting in a vicious trail of black smoke, silence folded in.

"Bobby," Dean gasped.

Eyes wide, Bobby leaped towards Dean while simultaneously cradling his gun under one arm and pulling out his knife, "Dean!"

"Cut the ropes Bobby, hurry!" Dean shook his limbs frantically.

Bobby fell to his knees and released Dean within a matter of seconds. The Winchester moved quickly to his fallen brother who was sprawled on the floor feet from where the demon had been. Though he rushed to get to his side, once there Dean slowed down and could only stare. Sam's entire face was bloody, bruised and swollen. His shirt was ripped completely open, leaving his bare chest to show their own set of injuries.

"Bobby," Dean's lower hip shook threateningly as he looked up at the anxious family friend, "Is he… Please… tell me he's not…"

Swallowing hard, Bobby bent down to the brothers' level and placed a hand to the side of Sam's neck. He held it there for far longer than Dean would have liked before speaking.

"He's alive."

Briefly Dean closed his eyes in silent thanks before placing a hand on Sam's bare chest, and shaking gently, "Sammy… hey Sammy, can you hear me?"

There was no response.

"I'm going to go call an ambulance," Bobby quickly stated, and walked outside in the evening air.

"Please Sam," Dean brushed some blood laden hair from his brother's forehead, "Do something. I'm so sorry… please."

Still Sam's body lay deathly still, and Dean once again found the tears crawling down his face as he looked at Sam's battered body. He tried so hard every day to protect his family from getting hurt, but every time he failed.

"I let Mom die," Dean brought his hand up to partially cover his mouth, "I let Dad die… please Sammy. Not you too…"

Again Dean brought a shaking hand down towards his brother, this time brushing his hand softly over a particularly large cut running down the side of Sam's face. It was such a small contact; one that normally wouldn't even have been felt, however instantly Sam stirred from his position on the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean positioned himself to get a better look, "Sam… Buddy, open your eyes."

Sam's eyes slit opened as his lips moved and a hoarse voice came out, "…Dean…"

Dean let out a large breath he didn't even realize he was holding, "Jesus Sammy, you scared the crap out of me. I thought I was going to loose you."

A small smile crept onto Sam's face, "Can't get rid of me that easily."

Dean shook his head in disbelief, "You're something else Sam. How are you feeling?"

Sam strained to push himself into a sitting position, "I hurt."

"Yeah, you don't look so hot," Dean shot a look at the open door, "Just lay down. Bobby called an ambulance."

"Dean, I don't need-"

"I can't," immediately Dean interrupted, his voice filled with unshed emotions, "I can't fix this Sam. He… the demon wasn't trying to kill you."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows as he lay back down painfully, "What are you talking about Dean?"

Dean's own face scrunched up at the horrid memories, "I don't think the demon was trying to torture you."

"Then who?"

Dean gave a crooked smile as he placed a comforting hand on his little brother's shoulder, "Me Sammy."

The End.


	80. What Were the Odds of That

_Disclaimer: Yes... oh, what?... I mean no._

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! Glad some of you are still out there after so long and are still willing to read my stuff, haha. So this story today is more of a drabble that is just one of those dumb stories that makes you smile. No point. No plot. No bad guys. Just a simple story that eons ago kept me busy for a solid ten minutes._

* * *

_Title: What Were the Odds of That_  
_Genre: My God awful humor_  
_Summary: I think it's a competition of whom is more bored; Dean in this story, or me while I wrote it. Just a little drabble from a slow afternoon for the Winchester's._

What Were the Odds of That

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because you're the worlds most annoying brother at this moment," Sam glared.

"Naw, I'm sure there's worse…" Dean grinned.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Sam muttered, "Why don't you go to a bar, shoot some cans, or find a hooker?"

"I'm offended that you would degrade my hobbies like that," Dean mocked hurt.

"The fact that you're referring to them as hobbies is degrading enough," Sam paused as he put on his shoes, "Why do you want to come with me when I'm going for a _walk_?"

"I asked you first; why do you want to go for a walk?" Dean shot out.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I want to go to a bar, shoot some cans and find a hooker," Sam smirked.

"I wouldn't do it in that order dude."

Sam rolled his eyes and got to his feet, "I'm going for a walk."

Dean jumped up from the bed, "I'm coming with you."

Sam didn't argue but instead smiled. Dean was bored… beyond bored. The brother's had been in the same hotel for the past week with absolutely no case, and no case to be found. Dean was eager to do anything at that point- a point which had climaxed to joining his little brother on walks.

"So why do you do this?" Dean questioned as they strolled down the sidewalk.

Sam shrugged, "To see normal things. A car going by, people chatting," Sam laughed, "A dog taking a piss on a fire hydrant."

"You might want to consider that hooker Sammy…"

The two kept up idle chatting for the next fifteen minutes, talking about new parts Dean wanted for the Impala, or what Sam thought of the cute waitress at the restaurant. The two stopped at a corner bench that looked out on both the street and a park.

"So you just like to watch normal things? Everyday stuff?" Dean question skeptically.

"Yup."

"Well, you always were the weird one," Dean shrugged.

Suddenly a cat darted from out of the park and into the road of rushing traffic. A horn blared from a car which slammed on its breaks; missing the feline by inches. Missing the cat the car swerved solidly into a hydrant which burst open, sending a spray of water shooting up into the air; smashing into an over flying bird of which thumped solidly to the ground.

The horn blaring from the car, the curious cat strolled up to his newly found lunch.

"Huh," Sam raised his eyebrows, "That's not something you see everyday."

Dean nodded his head in agreement, "What were the odds of that?"

The End.


	81. No

_Disclaimer: Make me._

_A/N: Yar, I'm back! Haha, so this story is going to be shorter than my added notes. I wish, hope and only want just one review for this one, though I will be surprised at that. The story behind this story? I was at work one day, very bored in the middle of a blizzard (yeah, haha, obviously this was written in winter), and I asked my co-worker for a story idea title. He simply looked at me, smiled, and said no. Check, I wrote that down. I asked for a number of words that the story had to be. He said 45. I rolled my eyes and wrote this down. Next I asked him for sentence that had to be in this... can it even be called a story? He wouldn't say anything. I told him that if he was going to pout and not answer that I was going to throw him into a snow bank. He laughed and said 'Well don't ask.'. Check. Got my sentence. Haha, so yeah- this is what came of it. Enjoy, and please review!_

* * *

_Title: No  
__Genre: Umm... humor...  
__Summary: Gezz... there's no summary._

No

"Do you think _I_ can fly?" six year old Sam stood on the top of a picnic table.

Dean shoved his brother off the table. With a solid thud Sam hit the ground.

"No."

"Hey!" Sam cried.

Dean shrugged, "Well don't ask."

The End.


	82. Never Learn

__

_Disclaimer: Sift through the previous 81 stories... I'm sure you'll find a cool way that I said no in there somewhere..._

A/N: Hummm... added notes to this chapter? Well, okay first of all- thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! Haha, I got **way** too many reviews for a forty-five word story. Not that I'm complaining!  
So this story is a challenge that I did with a friend. It had to be 500 words, and have the sentence 'One day Dean may even go line dancing'. Yup... me and my obsurd liking of angst turned that into a somewhat tense story. Well, that's all I have to say for now. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

* * *

Title: Never Learn  
Genre: Angst and suspense  
Summary: Seperated from his brother, Sam is being followed by something that is intent to kill.

Never Learn

"Dean will learn," Sam panted, half in pain, half in exhaustion, "He _will_ learn."

The younger Winchester figured if he said it enough times it would come true. Deep down inside he knew it wouldn't. Truth was, Dean would never learn. No matter how many times Sam told his brother to _research first_, he wouldn't. Sure he would say he had. Even go so far as to make up some history.

"Hell," Sam took a big step over a puddle, "One day Dean may even go line dancing." Sam frowned, "Which will probably happen way before he learns to-"

Sam's internal and external rant was cut short as he paused at a loud snapping sound. The bright moon shun down on the back road that Sam was walking on. Dean was nowhere in sight, of course. He was probably already back at the Impala.

_'I hope_.' Sam internally prayed.

Dean had insisted, swore and assured Sam that all they were going after was a shadow demon, maybe banshee, or at worst another wendigo. Not bothering to actually look more into the attacks, it was Sam who was the unfortunate one to find out that it was actually a werewolf that they were going after. He had barely got away from it; the rock salt completely useless.

And now he heard the same sound he had heard two hours earlier right before the thing pounced at him.

"Dean?" Sam called out tentatively, "Is that you?"

No answer.

"Of course it's not you," Sam muttered, "You're off somewhere letting _me_ learn _your_ lessons. It should-"

Again Sam's rant was cut short. This time, however, it was because of the giant werewolf that had jumped out of the brush to the path in front of him. If Sam had a camera on him, it would have made an amazing, and such a stereotypical sight. The things head shot straight up into the air, blood gleaming around the tuffs of fur and teeth. The full moon cast sharp and dangerous shadows across the monsters features.

"Oh shi-"

Sam took off running in the opposite direction. Random twigs and weeds smacked at Sam, and he stumbled slightly on a root for a large tree. All the while he didn't stop running as he could hear the werewolf directly behind him.

_'Run, run, run, run_.'

Sam encouraged himself, though could feel a painful stitch in his side that threatened to slow him down. The inevitable finally happened as his large foot caught a rock, and Sam slammed face first into the ground. A large amount of blood spurted out of his nose on impact, and tears welded up in his eyes in pain. Knowing he had no time to get up and start running again, Sam turned around on the ground to face his destiny.

The things teeth were bared, and it seemed to know he had Sam trapped. Just as the werewolf was about to pounce though, a loud shot rung out, and it dropped to the ground.

"Sam!" Dean's relieved, grinning features walked over, "Guess what! It was a werewolf!"

The End.


	83. The Theories of Dean Winchester

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_Disclaimer: I'm going to pick a random story, in a random catagory on this site by a random person, and steal their disclaimer...  
"Not mine, but I wouldn't mind keeping them."_

A/N: Howdy folks! ...haha, that sounds like the beginning of a fifties radio show. Okay, so here is another one shot. It's a shorter one, though it was also a challenge that a friend gave me. Had to be 500 words and have the sentence 'I bet if the sky was purple then the ground would be yellow' in it. I took the challenge, and ran! By the way, all of you lovely readers, feel free to give me challenges like that; word count, a sentence that has to be in it... any type of stipulations. They're fun!  
This story is pretty much self explanitory, and something that entertained me. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

* * *

Title: The Theories of Dean Winchester  
Genre: Humor and angst... that's right... humor AND angst.  
Summary: Dean contimplates certain aspects of life while waiting for his brother to wake up in the hospital.

The Theories of Dean Winchester

_One. If Jesus were around today he would change the water into coffee, not wine._

"Remember back in San Antonio when that crappy roadside place only had one cup of coffee left?" Dean smirked at the memory, "I thought you were going to deck me upside the head when I snatched it up. Though I'm pretty sure you knew I _would_ have decked you if you tried to take it."

Sam's body remained motionless as the monitors hummed.

"Don't worry. It was the worst cup of coffee ever."

_Two. The inventor of the wheel was an evil sadist._

"Wasn't it that same night too that the fricken tire blew out?" a small laugh escaped Dean, "It was the first time my baby ever lost a wheel, and I asked you if you knew how to change it. You swore up and down that you'd never done it before, and you didn't know how, and asked if I could show you."

Dean paused as he looked down at his little brother in the sterile hospital room before he continued in a soft voice.

"Not even ten minutes after we got back onto the road did you tell me you knew how all along."

_Three. Mother Nature is permanently PMSing._

"How many times did we fricken get caught in the rain?" Dean sighed, "No matter what we wanted the weather to be like, it would be the opposite. That one spirit only came out in the rain, and it was sunny for eleven days straight. Then that snow storm that came _in the middle of May_. I bet if the sky was purple then the ground would be yellow just to mess up a hunt."

Dean continued to talk. The doctor said anything could wake his brother.

_Four. The severity of the injury is directly proportional to how close you are to a doctor._

"You fell off that two story roof that one time and didn't even have a bruise on you," Dean frowned, "I checked you from head to foot. Of course so did the two doctors that were there watching you heroically save those kids from the fire in the house. Nothing. Two weeks later wasn't it that your clumsy ass tripped down two stairs and you broke your arm? And to boot we were three hours away from the nearest hospital, and by the time we got there your arm was the size of a thick ham."

A silent tear crawled down Dean's face, "…c'mon Sammy."

_Five. An otherwise unconscious person will always suddenly regain consciousness when the cool and collected brother shows any kind of sentimental emotion._

"Dean…" Sam's voice whispered out hoarsely.

"Sam!" Dean jumped at the sound, "Hey. Are you ok?"

"Mmhumm," Sam nodded, his head throbbing, "What's going on?"

"Not much," Dean wiped some stray hair off Sam's forehead, "Just testing a few theories."

"Huh?"

"Nothing Sammy," Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, watching his little brother.

The End.


	84. Brothers

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_Disclaimer: I have a cold, so if I try and say no, it'll sound like 'd'oh'._

A/N: The energy that it takes to actually write something here that's worth reading is way too much. I am sick, and am impressed that I can actually string these words together to make a sentence, haha. So this story is a Wee-Chester story, which has been a long time coming. I have nothing nothing else to say, and my fevered head is going back to bed. Haha, enjoy!

* * *

Brothers

"No, no, no," five year old Sam's lower lip trembled, "No… please Dean… be ok."

"I'm ok," Dean lied.

Sam shook his head, spotting the blood running down the ten year olds leg, "No you're not."

Dean swallowed back the pain. After all, he'd been hurt much worse than what he now got from tumbling off his bike. But somehow this seemed to be bothering him more than any hunt that he was on with his Dad, and it took a long moment to realize why.

Sam.

His little brother sat crouched on the sidewalk, crying silently and desperately. Their Dad had suggested to Dean that they go for a bike ride, and Sam eagerly agreed, having recently got a new bike for his birthday. Dean gave in, stuck on his helmet, made sure Sam did the same, and they were off. It was on the way back to the house that Dean had hit a pothole and fell to ground; scrapping open his right knee.

"Dean, you're hurt," Sam cried, "We need help."

"It's going to be ok Sammy," Dean breathed deep, eying the sticky red blood leaking down through the gravel on his leg, "I need you to help me though." Sam just cried harder at this, fear in his eyes and Dean placed a hand on his arm and spoke sternly, "Sam, _calm down!_"

"Why?" Sam hiccoughed.

"Because I hate it when you cry," Dean whispered, "It makes me hurt more."

Sam took a deep quivering breath and nodded, "What do you want me to do Dean?"

"Go to the house over there, and ask if you can use their phone," Dean instructed, "Then call Dad."

"Ok."

Sam ran off, returning a few minutes later with the owner of the house in tow. Together the three people waited on the sidewalk, the friendly neighbor having placed a cool cloth on Dean's knee. Not ten minutes later, the rumble of the Impala was heard and soon seen as it came to a stop by the injured Winchester.

"Dean," John got out of the car and bent down to his oldest son, "Are you ok?"

Dean nodded his head, "Yeah, I fell off my bike."

"It doesn't look too bad," then man from the house spoke up then introduced himself, "My name is Charlie. Sam here went and got me."

"John," the eldest Winchester smiled, "Thanks for your help," he looked back down at Dean, "Let me see."

Dean removed the cloth, forcing himself not to wince.

"Alright," John clapped Dean's shoulder, "I'll take you down to the hospital. Looks like it will need a few stitches."

John helped Dean into the back seat of the Impala, Sam scrambling in after. Charlie agreed to look after the bikes as John drove down the road.

"You did a good job Sammy," John spoke from the driver's seat, "I'm proud of you."

Sam shrugged modestly as he looked over at Dean, "I had to Dad… Dean's my brother."

The End. 


	85. Of Love and Loyalty

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_Disclaimer: If I had a dollar for every stupid way I've figured out how to say no... well... I wouldn't have that much money. But it'd be pretty cool, huh?_

A/N: This is what happens when I look and see someone took the time to review so many of my stories! I post another one! Thanks ChelseaWinchester!  
Remember the times of Wendigos? Of Hook Men, and Bloody Mary? No? Well shame on you. Haha, okay, so todays story is one that I wrote SUCH A LONG TIME ago. I think it was the second or third story I ever wrote, and I did when I was writing 'What Ifs'. It's from the episode 'The Benders', which, in my opinion, is one of the best episodes ever done. It's a what if take on if Sam had been shot while the big show down in the barn happened.  
Anyways, one more thing. I am not a proffessional writer, nore do I even claim to be a decent one most of the time. I do, however, know that through the process of writing so many stories, I've gotten slightly better. So keep that in mind as you read this; it is some of my old work. And so it is not the greatest in writing style, though should give you a nice fix of Supernatural. Well, enjoy!

* * *

Title: Of Love and Loyalty  
Genre: Angst  
Summary: Taking place just after the episode The Benders. What happens if Sam had been shot in the barn and tries to hide it as the two brothers walk down the highway?

Of Love And Loyalty

"How are you doing Dean?" Sam asked, his voice breaking the nearly fifteen minutes of silence.

"I'm ok," Dean still held onto his arm, supporting the injured shoulder, "How about you?"

Sam thought about this. It had seemed like an eternity ago that he was being held captive by the Bender's. An eternity ago that he saw his brother walk into the barn where himself and Kathleen were being kept; the relief so evident on his older brother's face. Just like an eternity since Dean had left the barn and one of the sons had come in to finish the job. Sam had known then that something happened to Dean, and the fight with the sons seemed like such a long time ago. An eternity since Sam felt the undeniable burning and piercing pain of a rouge bullet slicing through the back of his left arm.

The adrenaline of the whole thing caused the pain to last only seconds before the whereabouts of Dean had come into play. Dean was hurt bad and was showing it, and as they walked down the road after Kathleen's warning of the FBI and police soon coming, Sam had nearly forgotten about his own injuries. It wasn't that he thought Dean's were worse. It was that Sam also knew that Dean was hurting inside; the fear of not knowing where Sam was had scared the older man more than Sam could ever remember seeing.

And it was for these reasons that Sam was reluctant to reveal how bad he was truly hurt.

"I'm-" Sam swallowed hard, "-I'll be alright."

"We'll be there in about an hour," Dean stated looking around at the deserted highway, "Then we can get the car and get some food and water into you."

"Don't worry about that," Sam shook his head; startled to find his world swimming in dizziness as he did so, "We need to get you to a hospital."

"Me?" Dean chuckled, "Naw, I'll be fine, and the police will be looking for us. Son of a bitch ruined my good jacket though."

"Dean please-" Sam felt queasy to his stomach as he looked at the horizon; the sun slowly peeking up.

"Sammy listen to me," Dean stopped and looked down at the ground, "You were gone man. Just disappeared like so many fricken other people have around here, only none of them were ever found again. Let me-" Dean cleared his throat, "Just let me play the big brother."

"Dean, you look like crap," Sam grinned, "I mean, I get you, I know-" Sam stopped in mid sentence, piercing pain shooting through his left arm and into his chest.

"Sam?" Dean looked over at his little brother, and gasped at the pale skin, and sweat beads forming on his forehead, "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"D-Dean," Sam stuttered, his vision blurring.

"_Sammy!_" Dean cried out, catching Sam just in time to help lower him to the ground; his shoulder screaming in pain as he did so.

"I'm sorry," Sam breathed.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean choked on his own words, but Sam didn't answer, "Sam!"

Dean moved his arm to let his little brother lay down more comfortably while still cradling his head in one arm. It was then that Dean noticed the blood coming from his little brother's arm.

"Oh God," Dean spoke to his now unconscious brother, "Sammy."

...

"Sammy, come on," Dean muttered, "I don't know why the hell you did this, but if you keep this up, I swear to God I'm going to beat you when you finally wake up."

The voice was tired and Sam's brain registered it as one of desperation; something that Dean rarely ever showed. He wondered briefly what was happening, but the pulsing in his arm quickly brought back the memories of the Bender's and the road.

Slowly Sam's eyes opened. A blanket was pulled up to his neck, and the dark and dirty ceiling let Sam know that he wasn't in a hospital, but rather a hotel or motel.

"How many fingers?" the sudden voice of Dean entered the young man's brain and three fingers were shoved in front of his face.

Sam studied the fingers for a moment; watching them wash in front of his blurred vision before answering tentatively, "T-Three?"

"Good," Dean's voice was gruff, "Can you sit up?"

Using his right arm, Sam slowly worked his way into a sitting position; Dean's supportive arm helping, and looked around. He was sitting inside a hotel room, and it was dark outside; the only light coming from that of a small end table lamp to his right. Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face was pale and he looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes scrunched up to try and clear the images.

"You are a fricken liar Sammy," Dean's voice shook as he got to his feet and stared down at Sam.

"What-?" Sam was so confused and wished his brother would make some sort of sense.

"You lied," Sam was startled to see Dean close to tears, "You told me you weren't hurt. You said you were _fine!_"

"Dean, I-" Sam honestly didn't know what to say, and so was happy when Dean interrupted him.

"Sam we are in the middle of a town with people looking for us," Dean's voice was quiet, though it shook with a number of emotions, "I couldn't exactly bring you into a hospital with a fricken bullet wound, but I swear to God, I was _this_ close to doing just that."

"I'm sorry," Sam's feeble apology came out, "I didn't mean to-"

"What?" Dean turned his back to Sam, "You just- forgot you got shot?"

"I was worried about _you_ man!" Sam flung back the covers, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Let _me_ worry about me," Dean spoke quietly, his back still to Sam.

"And I can worry about me," Sam stated.

"Yeah?" Dean swiveled around, his cheeks pink, "Bang up job there little brother! You passed out in the middle of a highway Sam! You had blood coming out of your arm, and when I got you back here, a fever of 103.2!"

"But you-" Sam felt his own lump form in his throat.

"I'll be fine Sammy," Dean's voice sounded desperate, "I just- I had no idea where the hell you were. Then those… god damn sons of a bitches said they were going to-"

Dean stopped and Sam watched as his older brother sat on the opposite bed, his face to the ground. Sam realized, watching his emotionally wrecked brother, that maybe hiding things from him wasn't the best option. Dean had been worried about Sam the whole time he was missing; scared he was hurt, or even dead. And then, after finding he was alive, and _not_ hurt… only to find out that Sam had lied about the latter… Sam didn't want to think about it.

"I'm sorry," again Sam found himself apologizing, "It was a stupid thing to do."

Dean laughed and ran his hand over his face, "You're telling me," at this Dean took a deep breath and looked at Sam, "Are you going to be ok Sammy?"

Sam looked at his bare arm; a white bandage was wrapped around it tightly, and Sam could feel the rhythmic beating. He'd been hurt before, though never shot.

"What happened to the bullet?" Sam questioned.

"It went right through you," Dean frowned, "The thing caught only a bit of your arm. It was still bad though by the time I got you back here."

"Sorry-" Sam started to apologize again.

"Dude, quite with the apologizing thing," Dean rolled his eyes.

"I was-" Sam laughed and shook his head, "I was trying to protect you."

"I'm the older one," Dean smiled, "I do the protecting remember?"

"How come _you_ get to do all the protecting?" Sam questioned with a grin on his face.

"Because Sammy," Dean stood up clapping his little brother's good shoulder affectionately, "_This_ is what happens when you do."

The End.


	86. Double Vision

_Disclaimer: If I said on, a dyslexic person would think that I'm saying no... that could be confusing in foreplay..._

A/N: Howdy people! Another story so quickly, I know- gasp! But, alas, some of you may remember this story. I had it posted on here ions ago as a chapter story, though now I am clumping it all into one nice one shot. It is an older story, so again, quality isn't as good as quantity, but I hope you'll enjoy it! Oh, and one other thing, is that in this story Sam's eyes are brown. Haha, I guess I wrote it before I knew that Sam's eyes were green, and instead of going back and changing it in this story, I am leaving them as brown. Well, enjoy people, and please review!  
****sorry for the formatting problem before- with it all being italics. I fixed it up!****

* * *

Title: Double Vision  
Genre: Angst and I guess tragedy  
Summary: After an accident, Sam is blinded, and then haunted by visions of Dean being killed.

Double Vision

"_Ahh! No! No_!" the scream of pain and terror could be heard all the way out into the hallway, and Dean wanted nothing more than to rush into the room.

He'd tried to already. Twice. But a rush of doctors and nurses stopped him from getting any further than the entrance to the sterile hospital room. From his stance he would get a brief glimpse into the room and, even just for a few seconds, be able to see his brother. Sammy. Crying in pain, withering on the bed as doctors tried to give him anything to make the pain go away. It broke Dean's heart to know that even though his baby brother may glance towards the door during those moments, he never saw him.

Sam couldn't see.

The case was simple. Poltergeist. Abandoned house. The whole gig wasn't even necessary, but Dean had insisted on going as something to do. If only he hadn't. He remembered when it happened too. When Sam stood cornered on the opposite side of the long hallway in the upstairs. Dean was on the other side and could only watch as the light bulbs that illuminated from the ceiling smashed one by one, working their way to Sam as it plunged their world into darkness. It was the last bulb that burst that brought the pain. The last bulb that exploded in his Sammy's face that ended their world as they knew it.

"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean ran his hand roughly through his hair, "I'm sorry, I should of done something."

It was around five minutes later when the cries stopped, and Dean wasn't sure whether he should be happy or scared. When the doctor came out of the room with a saddened look on her face, Dean thought the worse.

"Are you a relative?" it was a doctor that Dean didn't recognize, and as he caught the nametag reading _Elizabeth_, he knew he'd have to explain himself again.

"I'm his cousin John," Dean forced any emotions inside of him for now, "I'm all he has right now. You have to tell me what's going on with him."

"Alright John," Elizabeth nodded her head and took a seat opposite Dean, "Sam is resting right now somewhat comfortably."

"_Somewhat_?" Dean repeated.

"We had to give him a large amount of sedatives," Elizabeth explained, "The bulb that exploded in his face not only burnt his corneas greatly, but it caused slivers of glass to become deeply imbedded in his face. He was in a lot of pain, and though we did everything we could for him, only time will tell if he'll get his eye sight back."

"So he's blind?" Dean choked on his words.

"I'm afraid so," Elizabeth spoke as comfortingly as possible, "You can go see him now if you like."

"T-Thank you," Dean got up and walked to the doorway which he'd peered through so many times while his brother was awake.

Now, however, he found himself not wanting to enter. Instead he stared from the doorway at Sam who lay on the automatic hospital bed. His face had a large white bandage going around his eyes, and an IV stuck ominously into his right hand. The scene made Dean's heart scream, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to go back in time and be the one at the end of the hallway. To be able to take the pain away from his baby brother.

But he couldn't, and moments later, Dean found himself sitting beside Sam in a chair, and holding his hand; the only form of comfort he could manage.

"It's going to be ok Sammy," Dean whispered, "I'll never leave you, I promise."

"You sure you're ready Sam?" Dean questioned, shoving an assortment of clothing into a bag, "Because we can stay a couple of extra days if you want."

"No," Sam shook his head from his position on the bed, "Lets go."

_'At least he said something_,' Dean tried to think positively.

It had been just over a week, and their stay was quickly coming to an end as Dean's credit card had been getting flagged as a potentially stolen one. Smooth talking gained them an extra night, but Dean knew that any longer and they'd be pushing their luck. The lacerations and burns on Sam's face were slowly fading, though the bandages remained over his useless eyes. He barely spoke a word to anyone, and Dean had to force him to do anything.

"Alright Kid, everything is ready," Dean spoke up after a few more minutes of hasty packing, "I'll go get a chair for you."

He waited just a moment to see if Sam would respond to this, though wasn't surprised to find that he didn't. It was going to be so hard, Dean realized as he got an old worn wheelchair; everything had changed. Nothing seemed important anymore except for helping Sam get used to his new life. The doctors said that there was a 'slim to none' chance that Sam would ever regain his eyesight again; the damage was too bad. When Dean had gone to check Sam out of the hospital, the nurse had given him a small piece of paper with the name of 'West-Ridge Institute' written on it.

It was a home for the blind.

"Ok Sam," Dean said as he entered the room, "I got the chair."

Walking over, Dean made sure to touch Sam's arm before he helped his little brother to his feet. Sam clutched Dean's arm with all the strength he could muster, and took slow easy steps across the room.

"That's right," Dean encouraged, "We're almost there. You can do it."

"Dean I'm not a baby," Sam's voice came out stern and angry as he stopped in mid-step, "I know how to walk."

Dean sighed sadly, "I know. Sorry."

Reluctantly and in silence, Sam aloud Dean to lead him to the chair. With few words being spoken to the nursing staff, Dean lead Sam to the car and helped him into the front seat of the Impala. Dean made sure his belt was on before moving around to his own side and starting up the engine.

"I figure we could head back down south," Dean started to talk once they got onto the endless highway, "Maybe find some old family friends. I'm sure once we can get a hold of Dad that we could get him to come down and maybe set up an apartment for you or something."

Sam remained quiet, and if it weren't for the flexing of his hands, Dean thought he may be asleep.

"Listen Sam," Dean sighed, "I know this fricken sucks. But everything will be ok."

"Why?" Sam's voice was cold, "Because you say so? Because you, the almighty Dean says it will be ok, then it will be. Because that's worked great up until now."

Dean squeezed his hands around the steering wheel, and took a deep breath, "Don't do that to me Sammy. Don't blame this whole thing on me."

Again Sam just stayed quiet and after a few moments Dean glanced over to see the rhythmic movement of his chest. Sam was asleep…

_"Hey Sam, I'll be right back," Dean looked over at Sam._

_Without saying a word Sam watched as his brother opened up the car door and got out. The rain was hitting hard against the windshield and his brother only stayed in sight for a short while before the darkness consumed him._

_"Dean wait," Sam attempted to call out, but Dean didn't hear, "Dean!"_

_Something was going to happen._

_The younger Winchester stared out the window, waiting for Dean to reappear through the downpour. Why couldn't he leave! He had to save Dean! But something was stopping him from being able to leave the car._

_"Dean!" Sam shouted at the top of his lungs now, "Dean come back!"_

_As if in answer to his frantic call a howl of wind seemed to shake the car. Something was going to happen to Dean! His heart pounding, Sam tried to force his limbs to work, and let him open the door so he could go after him._

_"Dean!"_

_This time a loud scream and three shots answered his call and Sam's head swung towards the drivers side door. Sam wasn't sure how much time passed as silence seemed to envelope him. Not even the rain made sound as he could only stare out the rain slick window._

_"Dean…" his voice came out in barely a whisper._

_Just as Sam was about to try again in his futile attempt to save his brother a loud smash came to the left side of the car. Sam's eyes were wide as he saw Dean's lifeless, bloodied body pressed against the window; blood and rain dripping down the cracked surface._

_"Dean!" Sam screamed out in horror, "Dean!"_

_..._

"_Sam!_" Dean placed a hand on Sam's chest, "Easy man. It's me."

"I know who the hell you are," Sam spoke bitterly, his heart pounding.

He could feel sweat pouring freely down his face and his shirt felt damp. He didn't even have to ask what happened, nor did he have to see to know that his older brother was staring intently at him. He'd had another vision. They'd left the hospital four days earlier and Sam had the same, horrid vision over a dozen times since. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dean; lifelessly flung at the window. His scream of pain. And Sam not being able to do anything about it. Dean had questioned Sam, of course, about what his dreams were about.

Sam lied and said they were from the night they were in the house with the poltergeist.

"Want me to change the bandages around your eyes?" Dean asked and Sam could feel him pulling the car to the side of the road, "They're pretty sweaty from your," Dean paused and Sam visualized the sceptical look he was getting, "Dream."

Sam remained quiet towards his brother.

"Sammy…" Dean turned off the engine and reached into the backseat to grab a small bag which held their medical supplies, "This has got to stop," slowly he began to unravel the white gauze that was around his little brothers face, "You can be pissed at me all you want. Hell, it was my fricken fault that this happened to you. But at least speak to me! Yell at me, or take a swing at me; I don't care. Just… say something man."

"What do you want me to say?" Sam asked, "I'm blind. I can't see. There's nothing I can do."

Dean knew that was true, but as every time he changed the bandages around Sam's eyes, he hoped that maybe this time Sam would be able to see something. Sam didn't move at all as Dean carefully pulled back the small wads of cotton that covered the eyes under the gauze.

Dean flinched.

It looked the same way every time, though Dean reacted the same way when he saw it. All around his brothers eyes were a raw red that was peeling in some spots. Small cuts littered the eyelids which were bright pink and swollen partially shut. The first time Dean had cleaned and changed the bandages, he'd talked to Sam, reassuring him and telling him to let him know if it hurt at all. Now, however, Dean knew better than to try and make small talk. Instead he pulled out a small squeeze bottle from the bag which held sterilized water. Dean paused a moment knowing how much this next part hurt Sam.

"Sorry," Dean whispered out the words knowing they'd give no comfort.

Using one finger Dean pulled open the eyelid of Sam's right eye. Sam let out a hiss of pain, and Dean felt him flinch. The eye was almost completely red where it once was white, and what used to show Sam's reflective brown eyes, was now glazed over. There was no doubt in Dean mind that his little brother couldn't see out of it, and trying to limit the amount of pain that Sam was in, he quickly squirted the water into the eye and let it close back on itself. He repeated the same with the other eye, and slowly wrapped back up his brothers face.

Dean replaced the bag into the backseat and waited a moment, staring a Sam, who'd moved to face forwards. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam spoke before he could get any words out.

"I'm fine Dean."

"No," Dean weighed out each word carefully, "No, you're not Sam. And frankly, I don't know what to do anymore. I've tried to talk to you, I've tried to be there for you, but you just won't talk to me."

True to his form Sam remained silent in the passenger seat.

"I've been thinking," Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Maybe," he swallowed hard, and Dean was startled to find tears welding up in his eyes, "Maybe we should check out West-Ridge."

There was a long pause and Dean held his breath, waiting for Sam to do anything. To move, to breath, to show any sign that he'd heard the words he spoke.

Sam's lips trembled a moment, "Ok."

"Ok?" Dean didn't even try to hide the fact that as the conversation went on he was becoming more and more upset, "Just like that; ok?"

Sam's chest breathed in and out heavily, though Dean knew he wasn't asleep.

"_C'mon Sam!_" Dean was shocked by his own anger.

"Yes," Sam spoke slowly and solidly, "Just like that."

"That's bull Sam," Dean's voice got louder and louder as he spoke, "Why the hell are you acting this way? What did I do to piss you off so badly that you would rather be at some God damn institute than with me? You're so-!"

"Please," for the first time Sam's voice shook with emotion.

Dean's chest heaved, so many emotions going through him he didn't know if he should cry or punch something. He had been planning on talking to Sam about going to see West-Ridge for nearly a day, though he never expected Sam to readily agree. He'd hoped that it would cause his brother to open up to him, to tell him that no, he'd be ok, and that all he needed was time. That he'd rather be with Dean than go to an institute where he knew no one. Instead here was Sam telling him that was exactly what he wanted to do.

"Ok," Dean forced his voice calm as he started back up the car, "We'll be there in about two days Sammy."

...

_The younger Winchester stared out the window, waiting for Dean to reappear through the downpour. Why couldn't he leave! He had to save Dean! But something was stopping him from being able to leave the car._

_"Dean!" Sam shouted at the top of his lungs now, "Dean come back!"_

_As if in answer to his frantic call a howl of wind seemed to shake the car. Something was going to happen to Dean! His heart pounding, Sam tried to force his limbs to work, and let him open the door so he could go after him._

_"Dean!"_

_This time a loud scream and three shots answered his call and Sam's head swung towards the drivers side door. Sam wasn't sure how much time passed as silence seemed to envelope him. Not even the rain made sound as he could only stare out the rain slick window._

_"Dean…" his voice came out in barely a whisper._

_Just as Sam was about to try again in his futile attempt to save his brother a loud smash came to the left side of the car. Sam's eyes were wide as he saw Dean's lifeless, bloodied body pressed against the window; blood and rain dripping down the cracked surface._

_"Dean!" Sam screamed out in horror, "Dean!"…_

Sam gasped, and sat up.

'_A dream!_' his mind screamed at him, '_It was all a dream!_'

With trembling hands, Sam moved his fingers to his face and felt the bandage over his eyes. The dream was becoming more an more intense, and Sam wondered how much more he could take it. Dean had barely spoken two words to him the previous afternoon after they'd talked about West-Ridge. It was late by the time Dean had pulled into a small, shabby motel, and after he got Sam settled in bed and took a quick shower, the eldest Winchester went to sleep. Sam, however, had forced himself to stay awake as long as possible, knowing exactly what would happen when he'd go to sleep.

And he was right. The dream had re-occurred, and now as he sat up in bed at what he guessed was some time in the early hours of the night, his brotherly instinct told him that Dean was sitting in his own bed staring over at him. Recent days had taught Dean not to say anything after Sam had one of his dreams so instead he'd trained himself to watch silently for any signs that Sam was physically hurting or was in any danger.

An hour went by before Sam spoke into the silence, "What time is it?"

"Just after five," the reply was instant, and Sam almost smiled at the fact that so much relief swept through Dean's voice at the small conversation.

Just after five was good enough for Sam. He'd catch a nap later on, and slowly he got up and worked his way to the end of the bed where he knew Dean had thrown his bag the night before.

"Here," Sam heard Dean jump out of his bed and come over, "I'll help-"

"I don't need your help," suddenly Sam was back to his cold self, and Dean recoiled his hand away from the bag.

Making more of a mess than a two year old, and taking over five minutes, Sam finally managed to get out some fresh cloths and things to freshen up with out of the bag. Moving slowly and shuffling his feet in front of him, Sam made his way to the small bathroom at the far end of the room.

"Leave the door unlocked," Dean called after.

Sam was silent, but made a point of making sure Dean heard him lock the door after closing it firmly behind him. If the younger brother had listened, he would have heard cuss words leaking in from the room which Dean stood in, no doubt getting dressed himself. Nearly twenty minutes later Sam emerged from the bathroom with jeans and an inside-out t-shirt on.

Dean would have laughed if he didn't want to cry so much.

"Listen," Dean spoke after he helped a reluctant Sam to a chair, "I was looking through the paper from yesterday. There's a small town about four hours away called Krypt, and there's some house there that's causing some problems," Dean waited a moment to see if Sam would inquire more, but when he didn't, went on, "There's been five people killed there in the past year. All of them burned; two couples and one older man. All the same; someone sees smoke coming from one of the rooms, the fire department comes, and the bodies will be in the room, burnt to a crisp. Only thing is, they're the_ only _things that are burnt; the room and everything else in the house will be in perfect shape."

Sam stayed sitting in the chair, facing the wall.

"We're stopping by there," Dean spoke in an affirmative voice, "I want to check it out. It'll only put us behind schedule about half a day; we'll make it to West-Ridge early the day after tomorrow."

After that Sam listened as Dean went in and out of the room, putting all of their supplies into the Impala. Last was Sam, and Dean placed a limp hand on Sam's elbow leading him towards the door. It was when Sam crashed into a chair and Dean did nothing but pull him harshly to the right that Sam started to feel bad for his older brother.

Outside Sam felt a light rain drip onto his head and heard the distant rumbling of thunder. Dean lead him the few feet to the car, and harshly planted Sam's hand on the door handle and left. Sam hesitated a moment before opening the door and clumsily got in; having heard Dean already go into the drivers side and start the chilly car up.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" Sam could hear Dean's forced calm voice nearly three hours later as Dean pulled the car to a stop.

"No," Sam's answer was blunt and Dean left.

Strangely Sam found himself thinking of the case that Dean was going to be looking into. Something about it rung a bell. Sam had been hunting with their Dad a long time ago when he was barely fifteen. Dean was out of town, and John had decided to take Sam along on a hunt. While his Dad had gone off into a cemetery to burn some bones, he left Sam back at the car to keep an eye out for security. Sam knew that his father just wanted to do the whole burning of the body alone and so Sam had kept himself busy reading their fathers journal. It was the young Winchesters first look at the book which held all the information their Dad knew, and it was only a couple of pages in that Sam read about a demon by the name of Malum Aduro. It was a demon of fire that would catch its victims on fire, releasing their spirit, making the demon stronger and stronger. Soon the demon would be strong enough to divide into two, making two Malum Adoro's, and the whole process would start over again.

"We'll be there in about an hour," Dean's sudden voice snapped Sam out of his thoughts as the car was started up again and they headed out.

Just over an hour into the ride two things happened that caught Sam off guard. A large crack of thunder erupted what had once been a quiet sky, with it bringing down rain so hard that Sam could feel Dean slow down the Impala. The second was much more disturbing to Sam than a simple thunder storm. It was his eyes. Without any reason they were suddenly fiercely itchy, and it was all Sam could do to not take off the bandage and scratch.

Dean must have taken Sam's fidgeting as a sign of restlessness for a moment later he spoke, "We're at Krypt, but if you think that you're coming with me, you got another thing coming."

'_Jerk_,' Sam wished he could transfer his thoughts to Dean.

Five minutes later the car slowed to a stop and Sam heard the pounding of the rain against the roof of Dean's precious car. Something about it seemed so ominous, and so heart lurching.

So familiar.

"Hey Sam, I'll be right back," Dean's voice penetrated the momentary silence, and Sam's insides froze.

The dream!

But it was too late as Sam heard Dean close the door, leaving Sam to the sound of rain splattering against the windshield and soft purr of the still running engine.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, "Dean, come back!"

But no answer came, and Sam swung his head around, seeing nothing but blackness. He knew this! Sam knew what was going to happen, and knew he had to save his brother. But how? Sam couldn't see to undo his seat belt, never mind find something to help Dean with. A loud howl of wind shook the car as a clap of thunder erupted from the sky.

"Oh God no," Sam whimpered.

A loud scream and three shots rung out from the left side of the car. Barely thinking about what he was doing, Sam moved his hand up to the bandages covering his face and hastily began to unravel it- ignoring the pain. It seemed to take forever, but soon Sam had them removed, and pulled away the cotton from his eyes.

"Please," Sam whispered a silent prayer and forced his swollen eyes open.

The fuzzy interior of the car came into view. Sam wasn't sure if the tears coming down his face were from the pain that washed through his head or the relief that he could see. He didn't care though as a moment later he had his seatbelt undone and was fumbling to turn off the car and take out the keys.

"Come on, _come on_," Sam muttered as he got outside and struggled to open the trunk.

His sight was far from great and what little he could make out was hazed by the rain and darkness of the sky. What seemed like hours was only seconds as Sam finally opened it up and turned on the small light on the top of the trunk. The fact that Dean had been angry when he put the items inside was apparent as most of the things were dumped around. It made it easier for Sam, however, as he spotted what he was looking for right away.

"The journal," Sam's hands were shaking as he picked up the worn, leather bound book.

If only his eyes would focus! Sam turned the pages, squinting through pain at the haphazard papers and struggled to read the words that his father had written in there so long ago. Finally he spotted it; Malum Aduro. Tears continued to sting down Sam's face as he scanned the page for the passage he was looking for; …'_many of the usual methods of killing a demon does not work on the Malum Aduro. The only thing that is able to get rid of it is it's own weapon; fire_'.

"Fire," Sam breathed scanning the trunk.

He grabbed one of Deans many lighters and a propane torch. Barely taking the time to slam the trunk shut, Sam took off running towards the newly seen house. It was a large three story brick building from the early nineteenth century, and Sam's heart lurched as he realized he could look for hours in that place and may never find where Dean and the demon were. Just as this thought crossed his mind Sam tripped on a large rock, falling sharply onto the ground. A cry of pain escaped his mouth to which he heard a distance growl.

The problem of trying to find Dean and the Malum Aduro suddenly didn't exist as he looked to his right and saw a large man around ten feet tall holding up Dean by the back of his neck, now looking directly at Sam. Dean's pain filled and bloodied face stared over pleadingly at him as well.

"Dean…" Sam breathed.

The demon tossed Dean aside like a lifeless rag doll and slowly worked its way over to Sam. His long, twisted, and matted hair fell to just bellow his shoulders, his eyes white and his cloths looked singed. Sam's heart pounded painfully in his chest as he fumbled in the rain to light the propane torch. Just as the younger man was sure it wouldn't ignite, a powerful hiss let out and a blue flame licked out of the end.

"Try some of your own medicine," Sam threatened, launching forwards on his knees and lighting the legs of Malum Aduro.

Sam watched, the rain slowing down, as the demon let out a loud, pain filled cry and burst completely into flames. For a moment it stood there, flailing it's limbs in a feeble attempt to extinguish itself. The next second it burst into dust and faded away to oblivion.

"Dean," Sam gasped, struggling to his feet and rushing to his brother who still was half laying on the ground, "Dean, are you all right?"

"Sammy…" Dean stared at Sam, his eyebrows scrunched up in an attempt to keep his emotions in check, "Sam, why do you have the bandages off?"

Sam smiled, "To save your ass."

Dean let out a small chuckle and slowly moved his hand to Sam's face, "Can you see?"

"I hope so," Sam quipped.

"Smart ass."

"Better than being a dumb-" Sam started but Dean cut in.

"If you even think," Dean threatened playfully, "Of saying '_Better than being a dumb ass_', I am seriously going to punch you."

Sam stared at Dean a moment and was suddenly thankful of the rain that was washing down his face as it covered up the tears which crept down. Not out of pain, he knew, but at the sight of his big brother. It occurred to him, after a time of enjoyable silence, that blood was still coming down Dean's face.

"Dean," Sam's voice broke and he was forced to clear it, "Dean, you're hurt."

Sam got to his feet and helped Dean to his. Together the two walked clumsily to the car, and Sam tossed his brother the keys before moving and getting in the passenger side seat. Dean got in the drivers side and shifted around to be able to look at Sam directly. Sam reached into the back seat and grabbed the bag of medical supplies.

"Sam," Dean grabbed Sam's arm to stop his brother from doing anything, "Look at me."

Sam looked at his brother, and Dean moved a careful hand up to his face. Carefully Dean pulled the lid up on Sam's eye and saw that though the whites were still red and pink, Sam's brown eyes sparkled with the life that had been gone. A large lump formed in Dean's throat.

"I'm ok," Sam insisted, "I promise you, I can see. God," Sam made a small laugh, "I never thought I'd be so happy to see you in my life. Even if you were dangling over three feet off the ground."

Dean laughed and looked down at his hands; desperately trying to think of the words that he wanted to say.

"Listen Sam…"

"I'm sorry Dean," Sam pulled Dean out of his uncomfortable speech, "I'm really sorry."

"Why?" Dean pulled a cloth out of the bag and placed it on a gash at the base of his forehead that was bleeding thickly.

Sam took a deep breath, "For being an ass. I didn't mean it, I didn't-" he swallowed hard, "Dean, you're my brother, and I never wanted to leave you, I swear."

"Then why?" Dean wanted to know, "Why did you say that you wanted to go?"

Sam turned his blurred gaze out the windshield, watching a droplet of water make its way down, "I've- I had a dream."

"So I've noticed."

"And it ended the same way _every time_," anger was laced through Sam's voice, "You died, and there was nothing I could do. I-I tried to get out of the car to help you but I couldn't, and then," Sam painfully squeezed his eyes shut trying to force the image of a lifeless Dean out of his head.

"Hey," Dean placed a hand on Sam's arm, "It's ok now," he smirked, "You saved my ass again."

"But that's why," Sam took a cleansing breath, "I thought that if I stayed away from you that my dream wouldn't happen."

"But it did, didn't it?" Dean asked the question, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "The rain, you leaving me in the car. Everything was the same."

"Sam when something like this happens, I need you to talk to me," Dean tried to keep his voice comforting, "You scared the _crap_ outta me man. Don't do that."

Sam smirked, "Sorry," he glanced at the blood mixed water that was washed over his brothers face, "Are you all right Dean?"

"I'll live," Dean paused a long moment before speaking with a smile, "You think you're pretty smooth knowing how to get rid of that thing, don't you?"

"Aww, it was a piece of cake," Sam gave a last glance at his older brother a moment before turning his gaze back to the windshield, "Anyone who can see could have figured it out."

The End.


	87. Dear Santa

_Disclaimer:__ At two-thirty in the morning I can think of no funny way to say no._

_A/N:__ Bonjour! Okay, that's the most pep you're going to get out of me, haha. I am so tired right now, though have a day full of Christmas shopping to do tomorrow, and so wanted to post this before then. This story is a Christmas story. I was sitting around one night, and was wondering what it was that the Winchester's would want for Christmas. And after sifting through the obvious R-rated answers, I realized that they'd want some trivial things. So I decided to write this story. Anyways, that's all for now. I hope you enjoy, and please review! _

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_Title:__ Dear Santa  
__Genre:__ Humour  
__Summary:__ Dean writes a letter to Santa about all the things he wants for Christmas._

Dear Santa

_Dear Santa,_

_My name is Dean Winchester, and I am twenty-nine years old. I have been a very good boy this year…_

"Dean! Dean, just shoot the damn thing!" Sam yelled out as one of the two spirits popped up beside him for the umpteenth time.

"Which one?" Dean ducked just in time to miss a chair being thrown across the room from the second angered spirit.

"Start with the one throwing stuff at you, and go from there," even in the tense moment, Sam's voice was laced with sarcasm.

"But which one is the one who fricken killed the- _whoa!_" Dean could feel his outer shirt get hit by a piece of wood, "Screw it!"

A quick shotgun blast hit the closest spirit to Dean, and, realizing that he was out of bullets, Dean pulled out his iron machete from his shoulder sheath, and lunged at the second one.

_I only want a few things for Christmas this year, and I think that because of my track record in the giving department, I should be allowed the whole 'ask and you shall receive' thing. From what I understand it's your elves that do all the gift making in your village, so I'm going to make it easy for them. The first thing on my list is simple; _

_An unlimited supply of clean underwear._

"Dude, we are not playing this game," Sam closed his eyes in disgust at the thought.

"I bet I'll win," Dean grinned, steering the Impala down another one of America's endless highways.

"I don't _want_ to win!" Sam half laughed.

"Deep down inside, Sammy, I bet you do," Dean looked serenely at his brother.

"Wrong," Sam smirked, "Deep down inside I'm wondering why you think it's a contest to see whose been wearing their underwear the longest without changing it."

"Five days," Dean wiggled in his seat, a bizarre, proud smile on his face.

"Dude, _gross!_" Sam cried out, moving as close to his door as possible.

Dean laughed, "What are you doing? You think it's going to jump out and attack you?"

"After five days?" Sam's eyes were wide, "We've _hunted_ things less dangerous."

"Hey it's not my fault," Dean defended, "We haven't had time to do a load of laundry lately. That last hunt lasted over a week, and then we left straight for Colorado."

"Then get more than four pairs," Sam shook his head, "And you won't have this problem all the time."

"I don't have this problem _all the time_. Besides which," Dean wiggled again, smiling, "This pair's just about broken in."

_The second thing I want for Christmas is slightly more complicated, though no less important. Though if anyone can do it, you can Santa;_

_A phone that will never loose its charge…_

"Sam, I swear to _God_ if you don't answer your phone, I am personally going to shove it up your ass so far that you'll have to open your mouth to answer it," Dean fumed, pressing the dial button to his brother's phone.

Like the past half dozen times, it rang once, then went straight to voicemail.

Dean couldn't count the amount of times that Sam would phone him while on a hunt simply because he was 'bored' sitting wherever he was, and wanted to talk. _Any_ time, however, that Sam was running late, was hurt, missing, or was taken, his phone would mysteriously go dead, or be 'forgotten'. This time was no different, as Sam was due back from his lookout at the graveyard over two hours earlier, and Dean had been trying to call him for the past hour and a half.

"I'll give you to three," Dean mumbled, looking up at the clock on the hotel room wall, "If you're not here by three, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to find you, then kill you."

It was currently a quarter after two in the morning, and Dean wished nothing more than to sleep. In an attempt to distract himself, Dean sat at the small kitchen table at their hotel, and rested his head on the table.

He didn't mean to fall asleep.

Next thing the elder brother was aware of, was the small creek of the door opening up, followed by careful, slow footsteps walking towards him.

"Wha-!" Dean jumped in the seat, and looked over.

"Sorry Dean," Sam smiled sheepishly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Sam," Dean gasped, "What-what time is it?"

Dean's brain struggled to comprehend what was going on.

"About three-thirty in the morning."

Dean's eyes were wide as he looked at his slightly bruised and battered brother, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "It went a little bad at the graveyard. The spirit of the girl turned out to be haunting around her grave, _not_ at the house. The one at the house I'm thinking was her sister."

"Why didn't you call me?" the adrenaline was leaving Dean as he stood up, and was quickly being followed by anger, "I've been trying to fricken call you since just past twelve!"

"I'm sorry," Sam held up his useless phone in one hand, "I forgot to charge it this morning. I tried to call you from a payphone before I left graveyard about a half hour ago."

Dean paused and frowned, "On my cell?" Sam nodded and Dean grabbed his phone, "Oh… the battery died…"

_The next thing on my list is probably more important to my little brother than to myself;_

_Socks that never get holes in them._

Sam leaned away from the car and gagged loudly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Drama queen."

"I am not!" Sam refused to look at his brother, "I just… _how do you do that?_ That _never_ happens with me man!"

"That's because I work harder than you do," Dean grinned.

Dean looked down indignantly at the cause of their discussion; Dean's right foot. It had been a long day of walking through a field of rough terrain, and upon returning to the Impala Dean had taken off his hiker boots to air out his soar feet. 'Air out' was the key words, for as soon as Dean removed his foot, the pungent stench reached the hunters, and Dean noted that a full three toes were protruding from a large hole in his once was white sock.

"How do you always manage to get holes in your socks?" Sam dared a glance back down, "Every week you get a new package of them. It's disgusting."

"You shoot people that have been dead for fifty years, decapitate vampires and shoot werewolves in the heart, and _this _is disgusting?" Dean stuck his pointer finger through the hole in the sock and wiggled it around.

"You have no class," Sam smirked.

"No, you just have a weak stomach," Dean objected, and stuck his foot in better view for his brother, "A sock that's sweaty and holy is better than a sock that's had no adventure."

"Ever think about sending any of these saying into Hallmark?" Sam spoke dryly as he headed to the trunk.

Dean removed his other shoe, and crinkled his nose at the immediate smell. Wondering if it was a man thing, or a Dean thing to be proud of such a ridiculous odour, Dean glanced down at his one big toe which stuck through the left sock.

"Dude, I think you need help," Sam laughed from the trunk, having seen Dean's goofy smile, "Here."

The thrown pair of new socks hit the elder Winchester directly between the legs, and the cry of pained shock was _almost_ loud enough to drown out the triumphant laughter.

_Now down to some serious business Santa. Every kid has what they really want for Christmas on their list, and usually it's the last thing, because we all know that you're busy checking your list, and the only thing you really remember is the last thing you read. It's not different with me Santa… there's just one thing I __**really**__ want for Christmas…_

"Crap! Sam, move!" Dean echoed the movement he hoped his brother was doing, and ducked quickly to the ground.

The long, five foot chain swung over top of his head, missing him by inches.

"Sam, are you okay?" Dean glanced around frantically.

"Yeah," Sam was breathing hard from his own position on the floor, "Yeah, I'm good."

"Come on," Dean grabbed his shotgun from the floor beside him, and got to his feet, "We gotta regroup. This guy isn't going to cooperate with us."

"Yeah," Sam grabbed his own gun and ran out of the room with Dean.

"Sammy, stay close," Dean muttered.

The old house they were in sat in the middle of nowhere, and was two stories high. All the hunters had to do was get out the front door, and to their waiting car, and Dean knew they would be safe for the time being. He also knew that nothing ever went that smoothly for a Winchester, and they had barely made it five feet into the next room when a large gust of wind announced the unwanted reappearance of the angered spirit.

"Damn it," Dean spun, his gun pointed towards the center of the room.

Sam did the same, "Dean, we have to get outside."

"Yeah, thanks Sam," Dean spoke sarcastically, as he inched his way towards the door which lead to the hallway, "Come on… move slowly."

Sam nodded, and keeping his gun poised, took a step towards Dean. That was all it took for the six foot five spirit to materialize, a loud wailing sound followed by the swoosh of his chain.

"Watch it Dean!" Sam cried out.

Sam heard it, rather than saw it. Something he realized was probably a good thing, given he probably wouldn't have been able to concentrate if he'd actually seen it. The sickening thud and scream of pain let Sam know that the spirits chain may have missed him, though had caught the elder Winchester.

"Dean!" Sam instinctively shot a round of buckshot at the spirit, sending it vanishing into momentary nothingness, "_Dean!_"

The horrific sight made Sam gasp as he looked and saw Dean with his hand covering the front of his face; blood covering much of his features. Stumbling over, Sam fell to his knees in front of his brother.

"Oh God, Dean."

"Lets go," Dean's gasped, his hand still over his face; tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and helped him to his feet. Together, the two ran into the hallway and down the stairs. They would worry about the spirit later; Sam's first priority was to get Dean to a hospital. Once outside into the cool air and by the Impala, Dean went down to his knees; hand still covering his face.

"Dean… hey Dean…" Sam was breathing hard as he crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Dean, look at me."

Dean's pain filled eyes looked up, and Sam found himself sucking in a breath at all the blood.

"Where did he get you?" Sam swallowed.

"My mouth," Dean moved his hand away to reveal his bloody mouth, "…he got me in the mouth."

…_and so, Dear Santa, my last item on my list is really the one I want you to pay attention to. I know a lot of people are asking you for this, but still…_

_All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth._

_Sincerely, Dean Winchester_

The End.


	88. I Am The Who

_Disclaimer:__ My dog just said no! Seriously he did! …or maybe it was just ruff…. I can't be sure. _

_A/N:__ Hello my loyal readers! …or not so loyal by this point. Haha, I wouldn't blame you either way. I suck at updating this thing lately! Though in my defence, I did start my job back up, and so for several months I've been skidooing across lakes, flying in planes and driving way too much for my own good (I think my butt went numb!). But enough about me and my issues, haha.  
__This story is one that was an idea from two things. One was the movie 'The Night Before Christmas' where in the song, there's the line 'I am the who when you call who's there'. I thought that was an awesome line. The other inspiration was my best friend Lisa who gave me the major plot of this story. Anyways, that's all for now- enjoy!  
__Oh wait! Don't go yet, haha. I almost forgot- I want you guys to give me some story ideas. I have some still, but I am badly running short of muse, so I'm hoping that if you guys can give me some ideas, it will help give me more options. Thanks!  
_…_now you can enjoy the story!_

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_Title:__ I Am The Who  
__Genre:__ Suspense  
__Summary:__ A mysterious spirit that kills while the victim sleeps, and Sam Winchester won't wake up…_

_I Am The Who_

"It is just a story," the words were comforting, and yet exasperated at the same time.

"But-"

"No buts," he smiled at his young daughter, "It is just a story meant to scare kids. Now go to sleep."

She nodded meekly as she pulled the covers up higher to her chin. As her Dad pulled the door nearly completely closed, her small nightlight cast out ominous shadows through the room. Everything was quiet as her eyes darted around, searching for something she was told wasn't there. Searching for what she had been told hid in that hotel room waiting for the person to go to sleep so they could crawl into their bed and slice up their slumbering bodies.

"It's just a story," she whispered, refusing to shut her eyes, "It's just a story."

A small rustling broke the silence, and with it her heart jumped in fear.

"The trees," she assured herself quickly, "J-Just the trees."

She was seven, and yet rationality was something she comprehended and clung onto in times of doubt. Anything that couldn't be explained rationally couldn't be true. The scratching and whispering of wind was easy enough to explain away, and so she slowly let her eyes close in a meagre attempt to prompt sleep. The scratching and creaking were becoming some sort of twisted lullaby as she drifted slowly into slumber when a sudden thought caused the young girl to sit up in fear. She had thought the noise on her window was just the tree branches.

Then she realized it was a calm night.

"No…" she swallowed the stiff feeling in her mouth as the sound vibrated through her room, "No… Who…Who's there?"

"Me."

...

"This is dumb Sam," Dean said for the umpteenth time, "Really, very, incredibly dumb."

"So?" Sam shrugged from his hunched over position at the trunk of the Impala, "Dumb works for us."

"Works for _you_," Dean corrected, "Dumb for me usually ends up with my ass in jail or the hospital."

"As long as we get this thing, it doesn't matter," Sam spoke flatly.

"Speak for yourself," Dean muttered, taking the shotgun which his brother handed him, "I don't feel like being anyone's Bubba or missing out on two weeks of my life lying in a hospital bed."

This got a grin out of Sam as he closed the trunk shut with his own things in hand, "Then I guess you better not screw it up huh?"

"Your ass is the one that's going to be sleeping in the room," Dean reminded as they got to the hotel suite, "I'll sleep outside in the living area," he paused as they unlocked the place and stepped in, "With you being geek research boy, I'm surprised you didn't look into this more."

"We didn't have a choice," Sam dumped their stuff on one of the two sofas, "With the rumours going on about this hotel suite, it's pretty much a hundred percent booked. We got in for just this night because of a last minute cancellation."

"What's the low down again?"

Sam repeated what he'd memorized, "For about a month now whenever anyone has booked this suite, and slept in that room they report strange things happening. Scratching on the windows, creaking of the floor, and even voices. They all end up leaving before morning. All except three people. All three died of heart attacks; the latest being a seven year old girl."

"You're telling me that they actually think that a seven year old had a heart attack?" Dean frowned.

"They're saying it was an undiagnosed heart problem," Sam supplied.

"So now what?" Dean smirked, "You're going to sleep in there, and wait until the Bogey Man gets you?"

"Yup."

"Next thing you know the Easter Bunny is going to start hammering people with eggs."

Sam rolled his eyes. He had no intentions of sleeping that night as he lay in bed three hours later; shotgun tucked beside him under the covers. He faked the motions in hopes that whatever was haunting the place wasn't too bright, and by the time he and Dean were set up for the night, it was nearly three in the morning. All was quiet at first, though it took only fifteen minutes for small scratches to start.

"Damn…" Sam whispered.

A creak of the floor, and faint whisper caused Sam to clutch his gun, ready to swing off the covers at a moments notice. He knew Dean was waiting wide awake just outside the door for any sign of distress, though as the minutes ticked by an odd sense of fear and dread swam through the hunter. The whispers became louder, and instead of clutching the weapon, Sam let go.

"Who's there?" Sam stared out into the darkness of the room.

"Me."

The voice came from the opposite side the bed sat. Slowly Sam sat up, his body trembling slightly as he looked more carefully. The feeling of fear became obscured by curiosity as a figure walked out from the darkness.

"I am the who when you call who's there…" the voice was whispered and shockingly familiar.

The mirrored image of Sam walked out, a haunting smirk on his face as he stared at his counterpart sitting on the bed.

"No…" Sam gasped, "No… what…?"

"You're too late," the evil took another step closer, "You're already dead."

Sam opened his mouth to shout out, though before he could, a loud yell and shot from a gun broke the silence.

"_Sammy, no!_"

Like waking from a bad dream, Sam gasped in the stale hotel air as he sat up in a start. Pain shot harshly through his chest as he starred around confused. The light was on in the room with Dean staring in shock from the doorway; shotgun in hand.

"Sam…" Dean whispered out.

"Dean," Sam gasped, his hand coming up to clutch the sweat laden shirt he had on, "…what…"

"Don't move," Dean's voice quivered as he stepped into the room, "Stay still."

Sam watched, his heart hammering in his chest, as Dean walked fully into the room and moved towards the corner where the apparition had been. Carefully Dean pulled out an EMF meter in his pocket and turned it on. The device was silent, and only then did the hunter turn towards his brother.

"Sammy… dude tell me you're okay," Dean walked slowly over to the bed.

"Yeah," Sam swallowed hard, "Dean… what happened?"

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and moved his brother's hand away from his chest, "Lift the shirt."

Sam smirked as he did what he was told and repeated the question, "What happened?"

Dean looked at the harsh red marks which covered Sam's chest, "I heard you start to gasp, and called your name. When you didn't answer, I came in, and…"

"Good choice," Sam tried to keep the mood light as he looked over his brother.

"Yeah, well…"

"I take it we got rid of the thing?" Sam questioned as he forced his way to his feet, "I mean when you went and shot it, was that the demon, or is it going to take something more than just shooting him?"

"Yeah, it will," Dean confirmed, "I think it's going to be a burn the bones and salt it, but I think that it will have to be done tomorrow because you look like crap, and I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, "I swear. I just feel really tired is all."

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Dean held onto the side of Sam's arms as he lead him out of the room, "C'mon, lets get you out of here."

"Okay," Sam readily agreed, "But I swear to God if the fricken Easter Bunny comes out next, I'm shooting it."

The End.


	89. Flagstaff

_Disclaimer:__ Gezz! I can't believe that after over a year I get to once again think up a way to say no. _

_A/N:__ What can I say? You were all sent in a time loop, and it really hasn't been over a year, it's only been just over a week? Screw it. It's been over a year. Almost two actually—crap! Well, nevertheless, I am momentarily back. And thanks to what? All those horrible writers out there! Haha. No, seriously.  
So my hiatus is thanks to my getting a job, moving super far away, starting school, and having about a billion other things going on my life. I still loyally watch Supernatural every Wednesday and will often, when procrastinating against school work, watch older episodes of the show. This happened the other day, and I happen to watch the episode where Sam and Dean die and go to heaven. They enter into one of Sam's greatest memories; the Flagstaff one, and Dean gives a brief 'teaser' about how Sam had been missing for two weeks on his watch, and all of that. Immediately I remembered that little side story, and came onto fanfiction to see people's versions of the Flagstaff story. And I swear, __**every single one**__ of those stories has a mean, and evil John beating his kids, and whatnot. I know Dean gave a look when he said '…and when Dad came home…', but c'mon… John would never have hurt his kids—he could have gave that look for any number of reasons. And so absolutely frustrated with everyone's versions of Flagstaff, I decided to write my own.  
This story is __**long**__ folks… it just kept going. And since I am rusty at writing, it may not be the best, but I hope you do like it. I love nice guy John (even JDM said he hates how they have tarnished his character and that he doesn't think John would be bad), and so wrote this one up. Please review! If for no other reason than to get me out of the 730-something reviews! Haha, enjoy!_

* * *

_Title:__ Flagstaff  
__Genre:__ Angst and fluff  
__Summary:__ Sam spent one of the best two weeks of his life in Flagstaff. But like every vacation, you eventually have to go home._

_Flagstaff_

Sam loved his brother. He loved his Dad too, even though he didn't get to see him nearly as much as he wanted sometimes. The thirteen year old simply couldn't be around them any more—he couldn't take the life of a hunter that his family seemed to prize above all else.

"Hey Sammy, what do you want for dinner?" Dean stuck his head into the bedroom the brother's shared where Sam sat on his bed reading a book.

"Did Dad leave money?" Sam's plan was in place, and in order to do what he needed to do, he had to get his brother out of the small rented house.

"He left us a twenty to last until he gets back tomorrow," Dean smiled, "Want some fries and a burger from down the street?"

"Sure."

Dean's grin widened, "They have great pie. Want to come with me for the walk?"

Sam shook his head, "No thanks. I'm going to finish off this chapter and then jump in the shower."

"Okay," Dean turned around and headed towards the living room, "I'll be back."

The second his brother was out of sight, Sam went down to his hands and knees on the floor. His ears straining for any sign of Dean coming back down the hall, the youngest Winchester grabbed an old tin lunchbox he'd hidden and brought it in front of him. The plan of leaving had been brewing in Sam's mind for months; since his last big fight with John about a hunt. The one thing Sam knew he'd need was money and so had been saving up carefully, stashing his money in the box.

"Okay," Sam could feel butterflies forming in his stomach as he heard Dean leave out the front door, "I got an hour until the bus leaves."

He heard in passing conversation several months ago about Uncle Bobby spending some time briefly in Flagstaff, and the name had stuck in Sam's head. They were close, currently staying in Deming, New Mexico, and Sam had checked with the local bus line to see when the bus left to Flagstaff.

Every day at 6PM they had told him. It was currently four minutes after five.

After shoving the nearly two hundred dollars he had managed to collect into his wallet, Sam grabbed a pre-packed backpack he'd stashed in the closet and left the bedroom. Quickly he stopped in the bathroom, opened the door, turned on the shower, and closed the door again.

"That should buy me some time," Sam smirked to himself as he made sure the door was locked.

All he had to do was make sure he was on the bus before Dean realized he was missing.

...

Sam was dead.

He had been killed, and his bloody body was lying in a ditch, the hot summer heat having dried the pool of blood, distorting the teen's features into that of something you'd see in a horror movie. It wasn't even something supernatural that had killed his brother either; he'd been hitchhiking along the highway and a person who thought that supper hour was the perfect time to get drunk hit him. Sam had suffered greatly, his body not succumbing to the injuries right away. He cried in the ditch for over an hour after the drunk driver sped off down the road. Sobbed out Dean's name, and slowly bled to death in the most gruesome and painful way Dean could imagine.

Imagine.

Dean blinked twice, bringing himself back to reality as he stared at the empty shower.

"Sammy," Dean's mouth was dry as his heart pounded and his body shook.

He had returned back to the small house at just after six, the meal having taken longer than thought to cook at the diner. After a quick check in the bedroom, Dean heard the shower running, and assumed his little brother was in the bathroom. It wasn't until nearly six-thirty that Dean banged on the bathroom door, and five minutes after that before he jimmied it open. A thousand thoughts could have come to the older brother's mind when he saw the room empty, and yet the first one was that Sam was dead.

"_Sam!_" Dean shut off the shower, and tried to convince his brain that the idea that Sam was dead was a little dramatic.

His heart still racing, Dean checked all the rooms, knowing already that they'd be empty. Forcing himself to calm down, he then went into their bedroom and looked for any sign of a note; nothing.

"Damn it Sammy!" Dean shouted, pounding his hand against the end table.

With a painful lump forming in his throat, Dean grabbed his keys for the Impala off of the table, and left out the door—with any luck Sam would be somewhere close by in town.

"I swear Sam, if anything happened to you…" the tears he'd been holding back finally began to leak over as Dean maneuvered the car down streets, his eyes scanning for any sign of his brother.

He couldn't explain the feeling that was growing in his gut; the sensation that something really bad had happened to Sam. It always seemed to be while the kid was in his care that something happened, and this time, Dean knew, it was bad. He also knew that it was something that he should call backup on; Bobby, Pastor Jim, or even their Dad.

But Dean didn't. The hope that he'd find his brother at some point brought him searching well into the night.

...

Dean sat numbly on the couch waiting. It was just before two in the afternoon, and he knew his Dad was going to be home any minute. He had yet to find Sam, or talk with anyone who had. The entire night Dean had gone to every single hotel in the city, and talked with people in every convenience store and all night gas bar, but nobody had seen any sign of the missing teenager. Now, Dean knew, he'd need to tell his Dad.

The sound of John's truck pulling up caused Dean's heart to pound as he sat up more. Three quick raps at the door preceded John's unlocking it and entering. The hunter looked beat, and set down his duffel bag beside the door before looking up to see his eldest son.

"Dean," John gasped slightly at his condition, "…Dean, what's wrong? Where's Sammy?"

Dean would have laughed in almost any other circumstance. He almost forgot how intuitive his Dad could be sometimes.

"Dad… he's missing."

"What do you mean _missing_?" John's voice rose an octave as he immediately headed towards the bedroom his boys shared.

"Yesterday I went to get supper and—" Dean began to explain as he followed his father.

"_Yesterday!?_" John bellowed out swivelling around to face Dean, "This happened yesterday? Why the hell didn't you call me Dean?"

"I'm sorry Dad," the eighteen year old struggled to contain his emotions.

"Your thirteen year old brother goes missing, and you call me the _minute_ it happens!" John's voice bounced off the walls.

"Yessir."

"How'd it happen?" John questioned as he continued to look through the rooms of the house, "Was there any signs of an entry, or any sulfur anywhere? Anything."

"No," Dean shook his head as they stopped in the living room, "Nothing. When I got back from picking up the food, the shower was running, and Sammy was just… gone."

John was breathing deep, and could feel emotions bubbling up dangerously inside of him, "Have you called around town? Checked out the hotels and talked with people?"

"Yeah," Dean could feel his lower lip begin to tremble slightly, "I'm so sorry Dad. This is all my fault. I think something took him."

"Stay here," John whispered out the order as he walked back down the hall to his own room.

Once in his room, John closed and locked the door. He could feel immediately the tears falling down his unshaven face as his breathing quickened. John knew he couldn't fully blame his eldest boy; Dean had done nothing that John wouldn't have done. Sam was thirteen, and was more than capable enough to be left on his own for a food run. Hell, the teen had already been left on his own for brief moments of time during hunts. Dean may have thought that something demonic had taken Sammy, but John had a different gut feeling. Sam had been miserable for a long time now, and the eldest Winchester knew he'd taken off.

Which terrified John more than anything. Sam was a smart kid. If he didn't want to be found, then he wasn't going to be found.

"Sammy…" John gripped the edge of a large, mirrored dresser, his breath continuing to come in gasps, "Sammy, why?"

With each blink of his eyes, John saw his boy out on his own. Alone in a world that held more evil than good it seemed. A world that was intent on destroying the Winchesters. Finally the anger, fear and worry bubbled over in John.

"_Damn it!_" John roared, smashing a clenched fist against the large glass mirror.

The shards of glass seemed to fly in slow motion, and the bizarre sense of release came to John as he felt the pain in his hand. Vaguely aware of the banging and yelling from the door, John breathed deep, and stared down at his bloodied hand.

"_Dad!_" Dean's voice came panicked from outside the door, "_Dad!_"

His head cleared up, John walked over and opened the door.

"Dad," Dean gasped, "Are you okay? Your hand is bleeding."

"I'm fine," John nodded, walking past a stunned Dean, "Now listen up. There's a few things that I need you to do. You need to go down to the bus station to get them to put up a missing persons notice for Sam, and then to the airport to do the same. If he hasn't already left the area, that will stop him from doing so. I'm going to call Bobby, Caleb and Pastor Jim to get some more hands on this, and to help me check to see if anything _did_take him."

Dean relaxed slightly at the plan, "Okay."

"When you're done at the bus station and airport, I want you to drive around and look. And then when you're done, drive some more," John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, "Don't worry, we'll find him."

...

_Fourteen days later…_

Sam sighed as he sat on the couch. The moment he sat down, the large, golden retriever he'd named Bones came wagging up to him, placing its head on Sam's lap.

"Hey boy, how's it going?" Sam scratched under his ears, "Miss me?"

The dog whined slightly and Sam smiled. The past fourteen days had been almost like a dream to the teen. The nervous bubbles in his stomach had turned into excitement once Sam got on the road towards Flagstaff. The money he had saved up allowed him to get a hotel room at 'Route 14 Hotel' for a week, and after talking with the manager the teen had managed to convince him he was sixteen, and got an under the table maintenance job for twenty-five dollars a day. Two days into staying there, a stray dog found its way to the off the road hotel, and Sam adopted the pet.

Everything had been going great until the manager noticed the dog, and had given Sam two days to find it a home.

"I found someone today Bonsey," Sam had a lump in his throat, "They're coming this evening to get you."

The dog looked questionably up at Sam.

"It's okay," Sam continued to pet him, "It's a real family. They even have two kids that will play with you, and you can run around all you want. You'll be happy."

Tears Sam never realized were there came down his face, "You can have a real family with people that love you and will take care of you. They'll be there for you, and make sure that you're never alone. Even when you think you want to be…"

Sam wiped away the tears from his face, and knew immediately what he had to do. The two weeks he'd spent on his own were undoubtedly some of the best of his life, but the words he spoke to his beloved dog were also true to himself. He needed his family. Picking up the phone by the bed, Sam pressed in the numbers that he'd had memorized since his Dad got a cell phone.

"Hello?" John's voice came through after only one ring.

"Dad?" Sam was forced to clear his throat, "Dad, it's Sam."

"Sammy?!" John's voice cracked, "Sammy, where are you? Are you okay?"

Sam smiled to himself, "I'm alright Dad."

"Where are you?" John's voice sounded anxious.

"I'm at the Route 16 Hotel in Flagstaff," Sam supplied, "Dad… I'm really sorry. Can I come home?"

There was a long pause, and when John spoke again, his voice quivered slightly, "Of course son. You said Route 16 Hotel in Flagstaff? What room?"

"Room eight," again Sam felt warm tears crawl down his face as he pet a concerned acting Bones, "Thank you Dad."

"Just stay there," John instructed, "Your brother is out looking for you with the car right now, so we'll meet up there. Are you safe?"

"Yes," Sam nodded despite knowing his Dad couldn't see him.

"We'll be there by tomorrow morning," John forced his voice calm.

"Okay," Sam whispered, "Bye Dad."

"I'll see you soon Sammy."

Sam hung up the phone and took a deep breath looking down at Bones. The dog continued to beg for attention as it looked up at his clearly upset master.

"It's okay Bones," Sam forced a smile, "We're both going to our family."

...

John was aware of Dean pulling up behind his truck with the Impala. He double checked the name of the hotel before getting out; a quick glance let him know that Dean was doing the same.

"Hey Dad…" Dean's voice cracked, "I'm uh… just going to wait out here."

John studied his eldest for a moment before speaking, "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, and ran a hand across his rough face. John echoed the nod and turned back towards the hotel. He knew exactly how Dean was feeling—an intense accumulation of emotions that John himself felt. Relief for the fact that Sam was alive; something that had seemed less and less likely as the past 15 days passed by. Anger that he had taken off with no notice, no word or even a note of his plans. And then the emotion that he knew that Dean was really struggling with; guilt.

Trying to ignore his own guilt, John looked down at the paper in his hand for the number of the room Sam was staying in. As he walked up to the door, the hunter swallowed hard before knocking. It opened almost immediately, and John looked into the face of his thirteen year old.

"Hey Dad," Sam whispered, moving back away from the door.

John walked in, and closed the door behind him, "…Sammy."

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the two eyed each other. Sam looked at his Dad and noted the dark circles under his eyes and the overall exhausted look. John on the other hand, immediately scanned his youngest son's body for any type of injuries.

Once satisfied that Sam seemed physically okay, John swallowed hard and spoke in a low, dangerous voice, "What the hell were you thinking Sam?"

"I'm sorry Dad," Sam choked out, the tears he swore he wouldn't let show escaping.

John sighed; damn the waterworks!

"Sammy…" John was forced to clear his own throat before sighing, "C'mere."

Sam hesitated only a moment before taking the one step to his Dad's opened arms. Burying his face into his Dad's leather jacket, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He'd just had the best two weeks that he could ever remember having, and yet once he saw his Dad, he realized how much he missed his family.

John pulled his son back, and brushed some of the sloppy hair off his face, "You're grounded."

Sam nodded, and whispered through his emotions, "Yessir."

"And you're put on cleaning duty for all the weapons for the next month."

"Yessir."

John smiled wearily, "And if you _ever_ think about doing something like this again, you will be used as target practice."

This got a small laugh out of Sam, "I'm _really_ sorry Dad."

John nodded, "I know," again he eyed his son up and down, "Are you alright? Have you eaten lately?"

Sam nodded, "I'm okay."

John breathed deep, "Good. Go grab your stuff."

"Where's Dean?" Sam furrowed his brow.

"He's waiting outside," John glanced towards the door, "He's in pretty rough shape because of what you did. It's going to take a lot of work to fix this with you guys."

"I know," Sam could feel the lump forming back in his throat as he grabbed his bag, "…is he really mad?"

John knew that mad wasn't the right word. Since the moment Dean had noticed Sam was missing, he had thought something terrible had happened to his brother. John had felt that fear only three times in his entire life; the day his Dad walked out on him when he was just a child, the night of the fire when Mary died, and seeing five year old Sam being attacked be a Shtriga. John had tried to convince Dean that they shouldn't jump to conclusions until they knew something for sure, but the elder hunter knew that when the mind was convinced of something, it was hard to think otherwise.

"Sam…" John thought how best to word it to the thirteen year old, "Your brother has gone through a lot these two weeks. But everything will be okay, I promise. Alright?"

Sam nodded and walked towards the door. John stopped him before they left, and placed a hand onto the side of Sam's face, forcing him to look up.

"Dad…" again, Sam felt renewed tears filling his eyes.

"Sammy," John found the art of forming coherent words difficult, "Your brother and I… you know we love you very much, and don't want anything to happen to you, right?"

A single tear fell down Sam's left cheek and he nodded, "I know."

John pulled Sam in for another hug, using the opportunity to wipe his own eyes with the back of his hand. The moment passed, and wordlessly John opened up the door to the bright outside. Sam, his bag flung over one shoulder, walked out, and immediately scanned the area for his brother.

"Dean," Sam whispered when he finally spotted him standing against the front of the Impala.

Dean stood up, and after a brief moment looked at his Dad.

"He's alright," John had passed a halted Sam about ten feet in front of the Impala, "I'm going to head back home." He looked at Dean, "I expect you boys back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Sammy is grounded for the next two months, and has a lot of cleaning to do. I'll give you guys some food money."

Dean nodded as John handed him some bills from his pocket.

"Enjoy the sunlight Sam," John smirked to try and ease the tension he felt in the air, "You won't be seeing it for a while."

Sam wordlessly nodded.

John walked up to Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Remember what we talked about."

With that the hunter got into his truck and pulled out of the parking lot. Sam then looked over at Dean, and though the sun was warm on his bare arms, goose bumps crawled through his body. He had never seen his brother look the way he did, and for a brief moment he wondered if Dean was going to walk over and clock him one.

"Dean… I'm so sorry," Sam found himself apologizing for what seemed the like the umpteenth time.

"No… Sam… you're not," Dean forced his voice calm, "You're not sorry. At least not for what you should be."

Sam frowned and took a few more step closer, "What do you mean?"

"Why are you sorry?"

Sam took a deep breath, "Because I scared you and Dad. I took off without telling you guys, and you thought that something bad had happened."

Dean shook his head, "You're thirteen. I can count already way too many times that I thought something bad has happened to you, and you've taken off a hell of a lot more times than you should have," he paused a moment, "Of course never for this long. You _should_ be sorry for that. But that's not why I am ready to drive off and leave your ass here; let you find your own way back to New Mexico."

Sam felt his heart beat quicken, "I-I don't know…"

"Family, Sammy. Family," Dean let the warm feeling of anger take over any other emotions that wanted to come out, "Think about it Sam! All we have is each other, and you left. Mom left when I was four, and now you've decided to leave too. And not because a demon has killed you, not because something bad _did_ happen, but because what? You didn't want to put up with Dad's training? You don't like sharing a room with me? Sam, you abandoned your family."

Sam stared down his feet, "I didn't think of it that way."

"You didn't think at all," Dean corrected.

"I know," Sam looked back up, "And I promise I'll never do that again. I just… I guess I just needed to get away from our life for a while. And I never thought of it has abandoning my family." With large green eyes, Sam looked at his brother, "Please believe me."

Dean sighed, "I believe you Sammy. You just gotta realize… you scared the holy hell out of me. And Dad. When you were gone… for two weeks man…"

Sam gave a small smile, "You missed me."

To Sam's relief, Dean reciprocated the smile, "Don't even try it Sammy."

"You totally missed me Dean," Sam was standing almost directly beside him now.

Dean wrapped his harm around his little brother, "Yeah, but at this range, my aim is _bound_ to be better."

Sam laughed and leaned into Dean's chest, his whispered voice hoarse, "I missed you too Dean."

The elder brought his other arm around to pull Sam in close for a hug, resting his face on the top of his brother's mop top. For nearly a minute the brothers held the position, the tension of the past fifteen days leaving Dean in a bizarre mixture of tears and the odd escaping chuckle. Sam, on the other hand, held tight to his brother, realizing how true his words had been. His family may have annoyed him some days to the point of wanting to escape to the other side of the world, but they really were the most important people in his life.

"C'mon," Dean finally spoke as he moved back, "Let's go home."

"Okay," Sam took a deep breath and headed towards the passenger side.

"I bet you we can beat Dad home," Dean grinned.

Sam relaxed at Dean's teasing, "No way. Dad knows all the shortcuts."

"Ten bucks says I'll beat him," Dean gave a sideways glance, the car engine roaring to life.

"You're on."

The Impala squealed out of the dusty parking lot of what had been Sam's home for fifteen days. They were fifteen of the best days of Sam's life, and would continue to be even as the teen got older. He had escaped, even for a short amount of time, a life which had monsters under the beds, and demons possessing people. He had a normal life, a dog, a job, and nothing in his life to remind him that there was evil in the world. Sam was happy to be back with his family, and had been completely honest when he cried with his Dad, apologizing, and when he hugged Dean and told him how much he'd missed him. If he had the choice to be anywhere at that moment, it was in the Impala beside his big brother, and yet if he had the chance to go back in time, he'd have done everything exactly the same. Sam Winchester had escaped, if even for fifteen short days. But he was back with his family again, and it would be another five years before the youngest Winchester would take off again.

The End.


	90. In My Room

_Disclaimer:__ "I am not the pot calling the kettle black." "How the hell does that mean no?!" "Haha, I don't know. It's for sh!ts and giggles."_

_A/N:__ Seriously… dunno what to write here. So I'm going to jump right in because y'all know the whole 'oh my gosh, I haven't written in a while, and now I am'. So this story… a bizarre story that has many firsts to it. One is that this is the first story that I've written and finished that is from the 'present' or close to present time in Supernatural world; as you all know I usually enjoy writing from when John was alive, and even Bobby now. The second first is a more important one; this is the first story where I've actually written Castiel. So I hope you guys enjoy my attempt at writing him! Read and review guys!_

* * *

_Title:__ In My Room  
__Genre:__ Umm… kindda bittersweet.  
__Summary__: Sam starts unpacking his things in his new room, and finds some objects which he had completely forgotten about._

_In My Room_

Sam sighed as he sat on his bed.

_His bed_.

It still hadn't clicked into the youngest Winchester that he had his own room; just as he was sure it hadn't quite hit Dean. The two had found the old bunk house that the generations of hunters had used and it didn't take long to decide they would make the secluded place their home base. Hell, anything that didn't have rats crawling through the walls, or questionable stains on the sheets seemed like a five star resort. And best yet, they each had their own room; no having to put up with Dean's snoring or random mid-slumber conversations he was prone to having.

_"And we don't have to live out of the car!_"

Dean's excited realization had led to each brother's nesting in their separate rooms. Sam had carried his two duffle bags in with him that for the previous seven years had been permanently stored in the back seat of the Impala. They now sat beside Sam as he looked around his room. It was nice; a queen size bed, dresser, small desk and even a large bookshelf which held decades worth of collected volumes.

"I actually get to unpack," Sam smiled to himself.

It was something he hadn't had to do since he moved in with Jessica when he'd gone to Stanford. And with dumping out the first bag onto the bed, it was obvious that he usually just haphazardly shoved things into it without looking. Inside sat seven and a half years' worth of memories.

"Oh my God," Sam's breath caught in his throat as he picked up a small purple velvet box.

Inside sat a burnt and slightly warped ring; the red ruby still sparkling…

_"Sam," Jess giggled, "What are you doing?"_

_ Sam continued to cover his girlfriend's eyes as he led her along a cobblestoned walkway, "You'll see. We're almost there." _

_ "If I open my eyes and we're in front of a bunch of your friends with silly string like last time, I am going to kill you Sam Winchester," Jess's playful threat only caused Sam's grin to widen._

_ "It's just the two of us, I promise," Sam finally stopped, "Okay. You ready?"_

_ Jess nodded, and Sam removed his hands. Her mouth hung slightly agape as she stared around; they stood in front of a small table set up under softly glowing lanterns. On the table sat a vase with two red roses in it, and two settings with beautiful plates and red silk napkins. To the side of the table sat a wine cooler with a bottle of wine sitting inside, and several covered dishes._

_ "Oh Sam…" Jess breathed._

_ "Happy two year anniversary," Sam smiled kissing her softly on the cheek._

_ Jess smiled, "Our anniversary isn't for another three months almost."_

_ "It's two years from the day I first met you," Sam laughed, "As I wandered lost down the halls."_

_ It was Jess who moved in for a passionate kiss which Sam eagerly reciprocated. After moving apart, Sam reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small purple velvet box._

_ "This is for you," he held one of her hands in his, and placed the box in the other._

_ Jess opened it and looked in awe down at the delicate ring with a small red ruby in the middle, "Oh my God… it's beautiful…"_

_ "It's a promise ring," Sam leaned in close, "My promise to you… that I'll always love you…"_

Surprised at the intense feelings the ring brought back, Sam placed it carefully inside the drawer of his end table, and continued to look at the different items scattered on his bed. Several large sweaters were tossed in a pile on the floor to be cleaned, and a stack of, as his brother called them, 'skin mags' were placed on his desk for safe keeping. When he returned to the bed, a happier smile came to Sam's face as he spotted another item he'd forgotten about.

"My knife," Sam picked up a small foldable knife.

A hunter never forgets their first knife…

"_Sammy," John walked in to the living room where nine year old Sam sat watching Bugs Bunny._

_It was times like this that John Winchester was reminded just how young his son was, and for a moment he considered putting off the talk he was going to have. When Sam turned off the tv and turned towards him, the look in his eyes told John that it was too late; his youngest had already seen too much to turn back to innocence._

"_Yeah Dad?"_

_John sat on the coffee table in front of Sam, and held out a small box, "This is for you."_

_Sam frowned as he opened the box, trying to decide what the special occasion was to get a gift from his Dad. Inside the box was a closed knife with a cherry stained wooden handle. Inscribed in golden writing on it was the name 'Sam', and slowly in awe he held in his hand._

"_Dad?" Sam whispered._

"_It's your first knife Sam," John swallowed past his growing emotions, "It's something every hunter needs. I-I tried to hold out as long as possible with you son. But I knew the time would come when you'd know of everything in this world. It's time to start training you."_

_Sam had seen many knives in the past months along with guns and other weapons that his brother and Dad were using. They had stopped hiding things from him after he discovered John's journal, and though it scared Sam, he felt safer knowing that he had people to protect him._

_Eyes still wide, Sam looked at his Dad, "Are you serious?"_

"_Yes," John took the knife and opened it, "Just be careful, and do exactly as your brother and I instruct you. This knife __**will **__save your life. And possible Dean or mine as well. So make sure you take care of it; I'll teach you how to clean it properly and make sure it's sharpened."_

_Sam took the knife back and looked at the blade, a small smile coming to his face, "It's a Winchester…"_

_John laughed, "I thought you'd like that. Now are you ready to start training?"_

_Sam took a deep breath, his eyes still on the knife, "Yessir…"_

Sam looked carefully at the knife now; the wood was worn right down, and the gold inscription wasn't even visible anymore. His Dad had been right; the knife _had_ saved their lives. More than once. It had long since gone into retirement as Sam got newer and more sturdy knives and other weapons, but still Sam knew he'd never throw it away. He used to dream when he was going out with Jess that he'd have a son one day and he'd pass it down to him as a family heirloom.

"Someday… maybe…" Sam half smirked as he placed the knife next to the ring.

The next item which sat on the bed wouldn't have been second glance worthy to any other person, however caused Sam to laugh loudly. He heard a call from Dean, and with a shout of '_it's nothing!_', Sam picked up a purple sparkled hairbrush.

"_Haha!" Sam grinned holding onto a new folding knife in one hand, and a handful of Playboy magazines in the other hand, "Thanks Dean."_

"_Happy birthday," Dean reciprocated the smile from his relaxed position on the hotel bed as he slowly drank a beer._

"_I didn't think you'd remember," Sam commented as he looked more closely at his knife; figuring a better time to inspect his other gift would be when his brother __**wasn't**__ sitting six feet beside him._

"_Are you kidding man?" Dean laughed, "Until the time you were fricken ten, you'd remind me the entire month of April that your birthday was coming up. I think the date is now engraved in my head."_

_Sam was about to comment when another, softer, voice spoke up._

"_Sam."_

_Gasping, Sam turned around to see Castiel standing directly behind him, "Damn it Cass!"_

_Castiel frowned, "What?"_

"_We're getting like an angel radar or some bells for you," Dean was the one who spoke._

"_I don't understand," Castiel frowned further, "I spoke up when I arrived."_

_Dean opened his mouth to reply, but with a slightly bemused smile, Sam cut him off, "What do you got for us Cass?"_

_Castiel held out a small brown paper bag towards Sam, "This is for you Sam."_

_Sam stared a moment before tentatively taking the bag, "What is it?"_

"_A gift," Castiel stated this like it was obvious, and after a moments silence elaborated, "It __**is**__ customary on earth to give someone a gift on the anniversary of their birth?"_

"_Yeah it is," Sam spoke stunned, "But you didn't have to get me anything."_

"_Oh," Castiel half held out his hand, "Do you want me to take it back?"_

_Dean was watching fully entertained at the events unfolding. He knew that when he told Castiel the previous week that it was his brother's birthday coming up, that it would be an interesting event._

_Sam awkwardly laughed, "No, it's fine Cass. Err… thank you."_

_ Cautiously Sam opened the bag, all the while Dean and Castiel watching. Sticking his hand in, and dearly hoping that nothing was going to attack him, Sam wrapped his hand around something smooth, and curiously pulled out the object. Dean's sputtered laughter reached Sam's ears before anything else registered, and the younger brother was vaguely aware of the feeling of beer splattering the back of his head._

_ "Oh," was all Sam could think to say as he stared down at his hand._

_ He held onto a medium sized purple sparked hair brush. It was one that Sam had noticed before in shopping stores in the girls section; usually sitting beside the barrettes with bows on them and the fancy headbands. Dean continued to choke on his laughter and beer, and looking up at a very confused looking angel, Sam struggled to think of what to say._

_ "Thank you…" Sam wanted nothing more than to smack his brother over the head with the object, but he restrained himself._

_ "You don't like it," Castiel stated, and air of sadness in his voice._

_ "No, no…" Sam cleared his throat, "Umm… what—uh, what made you pick this out?"_

_ "The lady at the store told me that it was the perfect gift for someone who has lots of hair," Castiel paused a moment, "I don't understand what's wrong."_

_ "Nothing Cass, nothing, just-" Sam turned harshly to the bed behind him, "__**Dean!**__"_

_ The elder Winchester's face was bright red, and tears rolled down his face. At the stern bellow of his name Dean breathed deep, and continued to watch silently._

_ "I can take it back Sam," Castiel held out his hand again._

_ "No Cass, it's okay," Sam gave him a genuine smile, "It's just what I needed."_

_ Dean continued to relive the moment for several weeks of Sam opening his gift of a purple sparkled hairbrush. But little did anyone know, nor would Sam ever admit it, but the brush had come in handy more than once._

Sam made sure to put the brush in his dresser drawer beneath some underwear, knowing how much Dean would tease him if he knew that he still kept it.

The next fifteen minutes went by smoothly for Sam as he continued to sort through random papers; keeping himself amused as he looked at the rising price of gas on the receipts. With a cringe, the hunter looked over at a slowly growing pile of dirty laundry in the corner, and with a sigh Sam finally saw the end as he got to the last pile of unsorted clothing. Lifting away an armful of clothes that he hadn't worn in ages, Sam's eyes caught the glint of something dull and metallic shinning briefly off of the light. It took him a moment to realize what it was, and with the realization, the young Winchester's heart skipped a beat. Sam dropped the clothes down onto the floor, and slowly ran his finger along the black cord that lead to the object.

It was Dean's necklace…

_Sam watched, heartbroken as his big brother stood briefly by the hotel door and let his necklace drop into the garbage can. The clunk echoed in the deafening silence as Dean walked wordlessly out the door. Sam stood and stared as a single tear fell down his face. Everything was crumbling around them. Castiel had given up, and now Dean had too._

_ "No," Sam whispered as he wiped his face with the back of his hand, "No… we can do this."_

_ Grabbing his own bag from the bed, Sam walked to the door and paused. He looked down at the garbage and saw the amulet staring back at him, and knew, deep down, that someday it would be needed again. Bobby had given it to Sam when he was nine to give to their father; saying it was important and that it would protect him. Instead Sam had given it to the person who had always been there for him; Dean. Since that moment everyone Sam had ever cared about and loved died. Everyone had left him but Dean, and if the younger brother could believe in one thing, he had to believe the necklace Bobby had given him when he was a child had something to do with it._

_ Checking quickly to make sure that neither Dean nor Castiel was watching, Sam bent down and picked up the necklace from the trash. Quickly he unzipped part of his bag and shoved it inside._

Feeling his heartbeat quickening, Sam held the heavy necklace in his hand. He had completely forgotten about that day, and that he'd decided to pick up what Castiel and Dean were so quick to throw away. Dean had no idea that he'd taken the necklace, never mind that he'd kept it all this time. Looking over his shoulder to make sure that Dean hadn't suddenly appeared, Sam went to his end table and pulled open the drawer. Inside was a small box that held trinkets that Dean usually didn't find of interest and so didn't snoop through.

"Someday you'll want this back Dean," Sam whispered placing the object securely inside "You'll need it."

The End.


End file.
